


A Better Fate

by Abraxas



Category: Maleficent (Disney Movies)
Genre: Angst, Comedy, Drama, Eventual Romance, F/M, Father-Daughter Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Missing Scenes, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Ravens being ravens, Redemption, Second Chances, Slow Burn, Unconventional Families
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:54:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 37
Words: 78,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23774191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abraxas/pseuds/Abraxas
Summary: Not so much a story as a series of connected one shots, snapshots and impressions across the years.Maleficent transforms a raven - and has no idea how many changes will occur as a result. One day, she might even face them.
Relationships: Aurora & Diaval (Disney), Aurora & Maleficent (Disney), Aurora/Phillip (Disney), Diaval/Maleficent (Disney)
Comments: 298
Kudos: 434





	1. Wings - Part One

_kisses are a better fate than wisdom_

_\- e. e. cummings_

There had not been a particular bargain in mind when she had changed him. A wild creature caught in the net of an unthinking, avaricious human, his wings beating furiously, and her fingers had twitched.

There had been defiance in the raucous cawing even before the billows of black smoke had enveloped the raven, something strong and irreverent, a life fighting to be saved.

She had had no bargain in mind.

No idea of what would emerge as a man when she sent her magic to him and his feathers changed to fingers and a pair of black eyes filled with indignant suspicion fixed on her and he demanded an explanation.

Maleficent wasn’t sure what she had been expecting, but she was quite certain that whatever it was would not fit the being currently staring at his reflection in the stream.

Diaval.

A strange name, unfamiliar, like the lilt of his accent.

She had also not expected him to be so very ... _male_. Ridiculous, now, she told herself, and all she had to do was change him back for good. Instead she kept her distance, ignoring the tension running along her spine and the knot in the pit of her stomach.

He had been turned into the form of a man but he was not a man, not human, he was not-

A breath sucked in, shaking as she released it.

He was not Stefan.

Despite appearances, he was a bird, with a bird’s honest heart. And his appearance, she had to admit, once she pushed past the knot that threatened to climb into her throat and stop her very breath, his appearance was not unprepossessing.

This was a sentiment that he seemed to share, still perched on the banks of the stream.

Once she had returned them to the ruins where she had made her shelter and she had again turned him to his human form - a faster, easier transformation this time - his first instinct had been to rid himself of the dirt coating his body that was the result of his capture and near-mauling from the farmer’s dogs.

Had it been the Moors, he would have earned the wrath of many a water sprite with his exuberant, splashy submergence in the stream but in this overlooked stretch of human land he had only himself to entertain. Arms flailed like they were still wings, sending up a shower, droplets hanging as prisms in the air. And ever since he had hauled himself out, his pale skin gleaming damply, he had been observing his own reflection, turning his face to one side and then the other. Rivulets of water traced lines between the light muscling in his back and torso, dripping from the sleek black hair with its occasional tuft of feather. His fingers traced the raised markings on his skin.

And she felt her patience stretch and then snap. ‘Well? Have you finished preening?’

His head turned sharply, tilted slightly to one side and those round black eyes watched her, beady and intelligent. ‘I’d still prefer my feathers,’ he told her. ‘But I’m still quite beautiful, for a human.’

‘I’m so pleased you’re pleased,’ she murmured.

He straightened, unfolding an unfamiliar body and did not approach her. He was wary, the natural instinct of any wild thing against something human-shaped. But she was no more human than he and he was wary but not afraid. His eyes moved to her shoulders, sketching in the air behind her the things she had lost and there was sorrow in the glint of those dark eyes. Not quite pity, she required no _pity,_ but sympathy. She had seen a look like that before in a pair of corvid’s black eyes.

And it was fanciful to think that this was the same raven who had watched her that night in the ruins. There were thousands of ravens in the world.

He pulled on the ragged clothes that he had scavenged from the straw-man set to guard the farmer’s wheat. Fabric flapped about him, negligent around his body and barely covering the newly-made skin.

Maleficent’s eyes narrowed slightly. ‘You’ll need more.’

‘Oh?’ Diaval examined the cloth. ‘Why?’

Because despite his arms and his legs and his handsome face, no-one seeing him would mistake him for a man. Because although he had sworn himself to her service she would not have anyone under her care look so ragged and neglected, even if he wore his rags as though he were a prince.

‘Because you’ll be cold.’

‘Ah.’ He nodded.

Gold tendrils twined around him, leaving him with a finer, heavier coat, a shirt and thick boots that he stared at, raising one foot before setting it down again with care. He did not seem to mind any of the changes she had wrought. ‘They’re not very well made, are they?’

One eyebrow arched.

‘Humans,’ he clarified, already quick to read her displeasure. ‘I mean, they seem to need an awful lot of covering up instead of just having their own sensible coverings like nice warm feathers and- _awk!_ ’

Wings beat frantically to find a purchase on the air and then he landed on the head of her staff, feet shifting to accommodate one another and then he puffed out his feathers, shaking himself.

‘You have a feather out of place.’ It curled awkwardly just above the join of one wing. She remembered the niggling irritation of that sensation, the frustration of not being quite able to reach. A hand stretched out, tremor in the fingers, and he was very still. She smoothed it down. Pads of her fingers catching against the satin gloss. More silk than the velvet that hers had been. Maleficent ran her hand along the length of his back and he chucked hoarsely, pressing up into her caress.

A hint of softness at the corners of her mouth.

And she felt a strange thrum, another beat alongside her own heart. It hovered, settled. Warmth to it.

‘Come.’ She turned abruptly, dislodging him. ‘There is work to be done.’

He wheeled about her head and then fell into the rhythm that would mark the rest of their days. He stayed at her side.


	2. Choices - Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has read and left kudos! I hope you continue to enjoy the chapters.

_1\. Diaval_

The enormity of her pain, the weight of it, was something that he could not quite comprehend.

She was glorious, ferocious, elemental, but it still seemed too much for her body to contain.

And it didn’t contain it.

Her pain and rage was all-consuming, something that overtook her, seeping into the sky and the earth until the rocks and trees sang the colour of her agony.

He tried to imagine his own wings severed and the thought was so horrific he could not think it. Not really. She borrowed his wings but never took them and sometimes when he reeled about her he wondered how she could bear to have him near her. But his feathers under her hand seemed to soothe her and if he could bring her even a second’s comfort he would endure whatever price was demanded.

He wasn’t certain whether any of it was easier when he was a raven or when he was a man.

As a raven his sorrow for her permeated his fragile body, filling his hollow bones, weighting his wings. As a man the thoughts and imaginings that were with him but hazier, more diffuse, when a bird were vivid and raw. He tried to imagine what manner of man would betray her. _Her_.

In sacrificing the possibility of his own unkindness he had made her his world. Given the decision to make again, he knew he would make the same choice. Always.

When he did see the face of her tormentor, this plain, unremarkable man with a crown on his head, his instinct told him to peck out the man’s eyes. His raven’s heart had burned with an anger wholly unfamiliar; he could taste her grief on his tongue long before he circled the castle and made his flight back to the Moors.

_2\. Stefan_

From his castle tower the newly-crowned king saw the spear of green fire pierce the sky.

She lived.

He remembered a glowing girl, her eyes gold and full of the joy of existing, her dark wings folding about her, about him. He remembered the sky streaked crimson and the taste of her lips.

She yet lived. He had been merciful. Her precious Moors survived. She should be grateful.

He should have killed her.

It had not been his idea to mount her wings in a glass case, to show them to world. King John of Ulstead had turned pale when seeing them. His new queen had laughed, her wide blue eyes filled with the hatred of a zealot.

When old Henry had died and the kingdom had passed into his hands, so had that sad pile of feathers.

Except that they did not seem to droop and wither. They were proud and gleaming and _waiting_.

They lived.

She lived.

He should have killed her.

He took Leila’s hand on their wedding day and forced a rictus smile.


	3. The Ring

It had been too large for her slender fingers from the start, but still Maleficent had worked at it. She had shaped the graphite band, polishing it until it shone like metal, the delicate bone gleaming white. It was a fine ring, the mate of one that she already had.

But still too large.

Lounging against the base of a rowan tree, his long legs crossed, Diaval didn’t _seem_ to be watching her, except that she could sense his bright black eyes following the glints when the ring in her hands caught the sun.

And ravens did so love things that shone.

It wasn’t always easy to tell when he was watching. In the first few months of their ... alliance? comradeship? relationship? During that initial stage of whatever this was, Maleficent had found herself somewhat disconcerted on a number of occasions to find him apparently staring at her, motionless, his eyes curiously blank and flat - until he had heard her calling him, shaken himself and greeted her, all smiles and irrepressible good humour. It had taken a fair few of these occurrences before she had realised that he had, at times, the habit of sleeping with his eyes open, just like the bird that he still was under his human skin.

His eyes now were bright and alert; however much he might appear to be at his ease she could feel him waiting for her.

‘Diaval.’

‘Mistress.’ He pushed himself away from the tree, folding his legs under himself until he was sitting up, looking at her, head slightly tilted.

‘You may as well have this.’ She tossed the ring to him and he caught it neatly, examining it, running his fingers over the bird skull with tenderness, a silent tribute.

‘It’s very fine, Mistress. Are you sure? You’ve been working at it a long time.’

She looked away from him, tilting her head back, her eyes closed, enjoying the sun playing against her face. ‘It’s too big for me.’

He tried it on various fingers until it found its home. Diaval held his hand at arm’s length, enjoying the look and the feel of his new adornment.

‘Do you know what day it is?’ she asked him.

‘Er...’ His face suddenly brightened. ‘Oh, I know this one!’ He held up his fingers, counting them off. ‘Yesterday was the first fast day, and tomorrow is the actual fast day, which means today is the in between the fasts day, so it’s ... Diardaoin!’

A pause.

‘Well, you _did_ ask!’ He sounded affronted.

There was a wrinkle across her forehead that in anyone else would have been a healthy frown. ‘What _are_ you talking about?

The round black eyes widened slightly. ‘The humans name all of the days of the week. Didn’t you know that, Mistress? And some of them they name for the days when they don’t eat, which sound like _terrible_ days, but I don’t understand why anyone would choose not to eat when you didn’t have to-’

‘It is one year,’ she interrupted, her voice resonant, ‘since I had the error in judgement of saving you from that farmer and his net, you _wretched_ bird _.’_

‘Oh, is that it?’ He thought about this for a moment and then grinned at her. ‘Sort of like a second hatching day for me, then. And this one’s even better, because I don’t remember the first one. But then I don’t suppose you’d want to remember fighting your way out of an egg.’

‘I suppose not,’ she responded drily. And watched as he went back to admiring his ring.

The irritation Maleficent felt was, she told herself, wholly disproportionate to the situation. It weren’t as though she had spent time actually making that silly trinket just for him. It was a day, just like any other and there was no real significance. Ridiculous to think that Diaval would have attached any importance to it. He was a bird, after all.

But when she had turned him back to his raven self so he could complete his evening forage and he had flapped off, she was still conscious of a certain despondency. As she stalked the boundary of the wall of thorns she leaned on her staff more heavily than she had for many months. It had come as a timely reminder that sentiment and affection brought only sorrow and entanglements were for fools. She would be nobody’s fool again, not ever.

When evening fell and Maleficent returned to the bower outside the cave that they shared she was not greeted by the usual rush of wings and hoarse cawing. But something was different.

On the stone slab that did duty as a table was an array of objects. She approached them slowly, curious.

They had all been meticulously arranged: bright berries, a piece of honeycomb from the hives below the southern cliffs, black nuts, star-shaped flowers whose rich sweetness would rival even the honey’s. There were feathers of different lengths and colours, those that had presumably been deemed worthy of presenting to her, which was saying something considering his own exacting standards in that area. The outstanding piece of that particular collection was a peacock’s feather - and where in the world had he found _that_? - and it had been preened and groomed until it shone like a jewel.

Wound through it all, however, was a thin ribbon of silk the same shade of deep bright gold as her eyes. It must have been the work of days to find, at least. Even longer to fashion the pendant it held, especially when you were still new to owning fingers. A piece of beech wood that had been worked into the shape of a feather, fine patterns scored though it. On the back a single letter had been etched. M. He was so proud of his letters, that he could read and write.

Maleficent blinked hard, swallowed down the tightness in her throat.

And from high above a bough shook, leaves whispering as dark wings took to the air, circling until he landed softly on the edge of the slab.

She held the pendant between her fingers. He cocked his head at her.

‘You had me completely fooled,’ she said.

His wings rippled slightly, chest-feathers puffed out and his bright eyes seemed amused. She held out one of the black nuts and he took it delicately, cracked it in his beak.

‘Clever bird.’ Her fingers sank into the thick black feathers at the back of his neck, feeling the down against his skin. He chucked gently, the sound deep in his chest.

Maleficent smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Diaval is using Gaelic for the days of the week.


	4. Choices - Part Two

Diaval had heard the rumours through the castle. A pair of wings, seized from a warrior-witch, mounted in a glass case.

He couldn’t tell her that.

Even if he had not taken his responsibility as her wings and her eyes so seriously, even if he had not been determined to bring her back facts and not mere gossip, he could not have told her.

He did not try to find out if it were true because if it was, if the parts of her that been stolen from her, if the evidence of betrayal and desecration were displayed as trophies, if he actually _knew,_ he would have to tell her.

And he could not tell her that.

But he told her of the wedding and then he told her of the child.

Maleficent had shrouded herself in darkness. She had proclaimed herself Queen of the Moors and the inhabitants had bowed before her - some more willingly than others, but Balthazar and his brethren were a more disciplined, martial-minded species than most. She had sat on her throne, brooded on her anger but she had harmed no one.

Until the curse.

A curse placed on a child and even while he had enjoyed the theatricality of their entrance and felt a certain pride in being the clear companion to such a glorious creature as Maleficent, and enjoyed her caressing of his silky feathers in full view of that glittering company, he had felt a swooping sickness in the pit of his stomach when she had pronounced the words.

From his perch over the little hatchling’s crib he had watched the king’s face; Diaval had seen first the fear, then the hatred, but more than that he had seen the pride. What manner of father, he wondered, would hesitate so long to plead for his offspring’s life? Stefan, surely, should have offered his own life in exchange for the child’s. Diaval had had no hatchlings of his own, but knew that if he had he would have defended them with claw and beak until death.

Death was, perhaps, too easy. Maleficent could have killed Stefan with barely a flick of her fingers. She wanted his suffering; wanted what he had done to be a constant presence, tainting every moment until he lived and breathed pain the way that she did.

But the hatchling did not deserve that, nor the queen with her face still so young and the dawning horror in her eyes as she realised just what kind of man she had married.

Maleficent had laughed delightedly, revelling in her wickedness, amused by it all for days afterward and Diaval wondered how long it would be before she regretted it. Beneath her layers of hardness and ice was a heart still great with the capacity for goodness. Love, even.

While the Moors yet lay in darkness and shadow, while she cloaked herself with cynicism and despair she still nurtured her lands, coaxing dying trees back to life and healing scarred earth with her hands.

Eventually she would see what she had done.

The laughter stopped. Evening drew in and for the first time in three days Diaval went near her, hopping down from his perch on a branch of the great oak tree and landing on a raised root at the foot of her throne. She had sat there, unmoving, for hours, her hair and horns still wrapped in black, her eyes flat as she stared at something that he couldn’t see.

Diaval cawed softly, flapped up to the curve near her shoulder and clicked his beak. She didn’t look at him. But a shudder ran through her and she raised a hand, running it through his feathers over and over. There were tracks of tears on her perfect cheeks.

Even if she didn’t see it she would need him, more than ever. He nibbled her fingers delicately. He had made his choice.


	5. Borders

Just because Diaval was unwaveringly loyal to his Mistress, it did not mean that he was uncritical.

Far from it.

It never occurred to Diaval that he should wait to be asked his opinions on things. Instead he offered them freely, without prompting, and no amount of sudden transformations mid-sentence deterred him. The diatribes would continue, but with cawing and wing flaps added. In Maleficent’s service he may have been, a servant would probably be his status, technically, but servile was a word and concept with which he was wholly unfamiliar and would have rejected utterly even if he hadn’t been.

That his interests extended beyond the confines of the Moors and the remit of spying on the castle was something that Maleficent found perplexing. That he apparently expected her to join in his concern for the suffering inhabitants of Perceforest was nothing short of bizarre.

Hands on his hips, he stood before her, black eyes blazing. ‘They’re starving!’

Maleficent shrugged. ‘That’s for their king to care about.’

‘He doesn’t care. It’s because of him they’re starving.’

Her eyes widened slightly, lips pulling together in a faint moué as if concerned. ‘How awful.’ Ice replaced the feigned sympathy. ‘And why, pray tell, should I care?’

There was something in his expression. Not quite contempt but it was something that bordered on it. Disappointment, perhaps. She bristled under that steady gaze, furious with him for daring to push her like this and even more furious with herself for letting him.

‘You’re better than this.’

Her gold eyes flared green. ‘Really.’

Maleficent rarely crossed the boundaries of the Moors. Before the great thorn wall had encircled it she had, at times, strayed into the woodlands bordering her home and her nurturing magic had been given to broken trees and fallow fields.

Since the creation of the fortifications and her own retreat to her throne, she had paid little attention to what occurred beyond the confines of the Moors. Flying across the human realm, however, gave Diaval a different perspective.

King Stefan’s reign had been of short duration, but if it continued as it was now it would not be long before the once prosperous Perceforest was brought to its knees.

Diaval took a breath that rattled through his chest, his talons biting into the soft palms of his human hands. ‘The king has levied taxes on the nobility - they pay them off by squeezing the tenant farmers.’

‘And?’

‘And?!’ He stared at her. ‘It isn’t right!’

Maleficent watched him for a moment, her hand tight around her staff, knuckles whitening under the pressure; she raised her chin slightly, daring him to say more. He did.

‘The streams have been diverted to the forges in the castle; the taxes, the water - it’s all for his war against you.’

‘Are you saying this is my fault?’ Her voice was dangerously low, fangs showing.

Diaval blew out a long breath. ‘No, Mistress. I’m just telling you facts, like you wanted me to.’

‘I want information about the castle and where they have hidden that little beast. Nothing more.’

He was very still, lips pressed together as though trying to hold something in. ‘All right. All right, have it your way. But what about the animals? They’re also dying. And birds without enough food-’

Maleficent laughed suddenly and it was not a pleasant sound. There was triumph in her eyes. ‘Oh, so _that’s_ it! _Your_ food supply... No so altruistic after all. Altruism, it means-’

‘I know what it means.’ His black eyes were snapping. ‘I only forage on the Moors - have the place to myself, actually. I’m the only raven around, in case you hadn’t noticed; all the others are too afraid to come here. They’re afraid of me, as well, come to think of it.’ He batted the thought away irritably and pulled in another breath, bracing himself against what he would say next. ‘You can’t punish everyone because of what he di- _awk_!’

The transformation was swift, rushing through him with more force than usual, sending him into the air in smoke and feathers. The raven cawed at her angrily, flapping in her face before spinning in mid-air. He rose on a thermal, strong wings sending him across the Moors.

Trembling with fury, Maleficent raised a hand, imagined his man form plunging to the earth below, tearing skin, shattering bone, and it would be no less than he deserved.

Her hand dropped.

She had given him the power of speech but had not had another thought of what he would do with it. Of how his raven’s mind would encompass so much more than the task she had set him. More than a raven, not quite a man. He had entered it willingly, but even so she had taken a wild creature and put him into a very peculiar cage.

Unable to settle, Maleficent’s steps drove her to edges of the Moors and she stepped beyond. Diaval had not been exaggerating, she soon realised. Lands that had once been verdant, their soil dark and rich, were all but barren, the grass dry as tinder. Heavy rain would not help, only wash the topsoil away, leaving the earth even more depleted. The last time she had walked these lands she had left chaos in her wake, ripping up boundary walls, herded livestock roaming at will with nothing to pen them.

That had been an extreme annoyance to the farmers, a few extra days of scouring hills and pastures for escaped sheep and wandering cattle. But this... This was a slow death.

At the edge of a pasture that should have been soft with lush grass, a few cows, bodies too emaciated and weakened to produce milk for their young, lay on the parched earth. A calf, all spindly legs and moist brown eyes, wandered towards her, lowing softly.

‘I have no milk,’ Maleficent told it.

It pushed its velvet muzzle into her hand, its tongue rough against her palm.

Her eyes fluttered closed for a moment. When she opened them she stared across the plain, finding the lines of the stream where the water course should have been. It had been dammed higher up, channelled away from the farmlands and towards the castle, a dark mass of towers high on its hill.

The calf tottered away. Maleficent took a breath, gathered strength. Up on the high ground gold light sparked and stones cracked, flew apart. She extended her hands, sending her gold magic deep into the earth, summoning green shoots, waking seeds with water and warmth.

She walked back to the Moors past a field now filled with ripened wheat and saw an unkindness descend, dark wings catching the eddying breeze.

The thread of his heart still thrummed alongside hers and there was a spikiness to it and she realised that in the extreme of his emotion she could feel his anger. But it all seemed fainter, as though he had flown so far that she could barely feel him at all. Let him go, she thought grimly, let him ride the currents away from her and never come back if that was what he wanted.

If he didn’t come back. If she couldn’t feel him with her, even when he was away from her.

Her hands were shaking.

Evening was falling over the Moors and Maleficent sat on the banks of a stream, wallerbogs eyeing her uneasily from a few feet away before deciding that as she was showing no interest in them they could go back to their mud baths (quietly). And then a rush of wings; without looking she flicked her hand and he hit the ground, stumbling forward slightly; righting himself, he flexed fingers, twitched at his clothing in his usual ritual that appeared to stand in for preening of feathers.

Instead of starting his usual report of inconsequential chatter, Diaval stood, silent, waiting. Maleficent stared at the blades of grass under her hands, seemingly finding them fascinating. Moments stretched out until their silence became a living thing, something twisting and jarring the airbetween them.

‘I visited the farmlands,’ she said eventually.

‘So I saw. They look much better.’

Irritation flared again. He should be _grateful;_ he should be on his knees begging her to take him back, promising absolute, unwavering, uncritical devotion.

Maleficent pushed herself up, hands resting on her staff. ‘I thought you weren’t coming back.’

His eyebrows flickered slightly. ‘Oh, and that would have suited you just fine, I’ll bet.’

She thought of all the things that she wanted to say, all of the caustic, biting words that would put him exactly in the place he belonged. She said:

‘I can’t do this without you. I need you.’

He let out a breath of laughter that was as scornful as any Maleficent had ever managed. He still kept his distance, though, fully aware that she could easily have turned him into a vaguely raven-shaped pile of soot. Or a mealy worm, and he would have ended up back inside a bird’s body in a completely different way. But he was still determined to have his say.

‘You _need_ a pair of wings. And if that’s all you want, there’s thousands of them out there. If you want something that doesn’t have a mind of its own, get yourself a pigeon. Or an owl. I don’t know how they got the reputation for wisdom because they’re the stupidest birds I know. And lazy.’

Chin lifted, he stared her down. She took a breath.

‘I need _you_. Diaval. I need you to keep me-’

It scared her, sometimes, the precipice she was on. An abyss of even greater darkness that it would have been so easy to fall into but then there was that incessant, husky voice in her ear; and even when she resented it and resented him for making her feel things she would sooner not have felt, she clung to it.

The lines of his shoulders lowered, even as he folded his arms. ‘Yes, well...’ And then sudden movement. ‘And why wouldn’t you?’ He spun, stepping onto one the stones across the stream, and then another, barely seeming to touch them. ‘After you’ve been accustomed to the wit and charm of one such as my beautiful self, not to mention sharing your nest-’ He broke off, looking down at the water sprites who had pierced the skin of the water.

‘Ladies.’ Balanced on one foot, arms spread, he bestowed on them his most charming smile.

Eyelashes fluttered, they pirouetted in the water, flashing their scales at him and giggling. But they didn’t hold his attention and he moved from stone to stone, nimble of foot, his body as agile and weightless as-

Well, as a bird’s.

He danced for her across the stream, reached the opposite bank and turned to her, bowing gravely. ‘At your service, Mistress.’

She pressed her lips together, a hard line, clenching her teeth to try and stop the betraying smile that threatened to overwhelm her. ‘Ridiculous bird.’

He grinned at her.


	6. The Hatchling

_1\. Diaval_

He remembered the feeling of hunger, not so much when he had been a hatchling, but later when he and his brothers and sisters had left their nest and their scavenging skills had not been quite so finely honed. There had been many hungry days and he remembered the way that it clawed at you, like a separate entity that would devour you from the inside, making sleep difficult and stealing the strength from wing and muscle and bone.

The child’s cries were pitiful, echoing around the forest long after the pixies had gone asleep, oblivious to the suffering of the infant in its meagre crib.

Diaval had little basis for comparison but he disagreed with Maleficent’s assessment of the babe’s appearance. With her round, smiling face, golden hair and wide blue eyes, Diaval thought her a pretty thing. She should be beautiful when she fledged, he thought.

If she lived that long.

In that, his mistress was correct: with the pixies’ negligent care, the little one would probably not survive the year. But the nectar that Maleficent had instructed that he brought her in the cup of a flower soothed her. He watched as she suckled and felt a sudden fierce protectiveness. It burned through him, clean and pure, like a flame, and the violence of it felt too big for his fragile body but he knew the feeling already, or a version of it, because it or something like it was there every time he was with Maleficent and even when he wasn’t with her. And if it ever came to a choice between the two he knew he would choose Maleficent every time, always, but for the first time in his life he offered up something like a prayer to anything or anyone that may be listening that he would never have to choose.

The child, Aurora, smiled up at him, a gurgle of laughter in her throat.

He remembered, just, the warmth of his first nest, his mother’s feathers fluffed up and settled over her brood. The way that the branch of their tree would sway in the wind, lulling even his raucous, swaggering father to sleep.

Diaval pulled the thin blanket over the tiny form, moved the rockers of the crib and, just like he and his siblings in their nest had, she drifted into sleep.

_2\. Maleficent_

Her interest in the little beast extended only as far as keeping it alive until the curse worked itself out. She had gone to the trouble, after all. That, and that alone, was the reason she had saved the creature from starvation, and from falling off a cliff, and from spider poison, and-

It was inevitable, really, that Diaval should take the little beast’s welfare so much to heart. He _cared_ about things. Even when his affections were given to wholly unworthy objects, he cared nonetheless. His gentle heart was big enough to hold a continent. She fully anticipated seeing him striding across the Moors with the child in his arms, prepared to raise it in the cave and expecting her to let it sleep in their nest.

But he didn’t, so they had to maintain their observations from a distance.

At least, she did. For Diaval it was different and not for the first time she envied him his wings. She loved the feel of his feathers under her hands, warm and silken. Sometimes she caught herself wondering if the feathers that threaded through his hair were as soft and those were thoughts that she suppressed even before they were fully formed. Petting him as a bird was one thing, but as a man-

Apart from anything else, it would be a distraction and she would not be distracted from her vengeance. Even so, the days spent sitting in the trees overlooking the cottage grew in number. Maleficent thought less of Stefan, raving behind his castle walls, and more about the child. The little beast was entertaining to watch, at least. And there were always the pixies to annoy and trees that needed a little healing. With Diaval at her side sharing out the nuts and fruits he had foraged, and the sun warming her skin, these felt like good days.

They felt almost like happiness.


	7. Diablo, Demon of the Moors (not his real name)

‘Bird!’ Chubby fingers grabbed at his tail feathers and Diaval soared upwards, spinning about her head. Childish laughter filled the grove, the sound bright as sunlight. _Bird_ had been her first word but she only pronounced it with quite so much glee when she spoke to him.

In the villages of Perceforest and as far away as Ulstead they called him Diablo. A demon in service to a powerful witch. The story went that she had opened the gates of Hell itself and he had flown forth. They said that he would peck out the eyes of anyone who looked at him. If his shadow fell across you it meant certain death. In his man-form his silvered tongue and handsome face had seduced and ruined any number of innocent maids.

There was many an unkindness that benefitted from his fearsome reputation. Fearful of unknowingly bringing their cudgel down on the head of the witch’s demonic familiar, farmers allowed any black-winged bird to share in their crops. And so the ravens of Perceforest prospered.

For some, however, who saw more clearly and thought more wisely, usually those who suffered most under King Stefan’s grinding reign, the lone black shape flying back to the Moors usually presaged something good. Barren lands that were suddenly fertile once more, ewes with milk to feed their young, streams running clear through their natural channels.

And if the occasional unwanted treasure went missing, it was a small offering in return for laden tables and full bellies.

Silk ribbons negligently thrown aside by a lady’s maid, a doll abandoned by a farmer’s daughter, they became the prized possessions of a golden-haired girl hidden in a woodcutter’s cottage deep in the forest.

Aurora loved her few trinkets, loved even more the gifts brought by her adored Pretty Bird. She worked pieces of wood into the doll’s hair to give it horns, matching the shy shadow that accompanied her everywhere. She shredded strips of black cotton, found bits of twig and even some of his very own feathers to make her Pretty Bird’s likeness.

Had her guardians been less absorbed in their own petty squabbles and more attentive to their ward’s daily activities, they may have wondered at the black bird that was Aurora’s near constant companion for so many years.

But they were selfish creatures by nature; and while they had good intentions and truly loved Aurora, they took no pleasure in raising her and marked their time in the woods as sacrifice.

When books arrived that contained all of the knowledge that a royal princess would be expected to have, they handed them over to her with little thought of how she was supposed to decipher them with no-one to guide her.

These were the times that Diaval longed for his human form. He could present himself as a tutor sent by King Stefan to school the young princess. But he also imagined what Maleficent’s reaction to such a suggestion would be and he had little desire to spend the night (or more) as a newt or toad or whatever creature she would deem sufficiently punishing for his transgression. And he couldn’t do it behind her back. So he perched at Aurora’s shoulder, cawing hoarse encouragements or scratching letters and numbers into the sand with a bit of twig held in his beak to help her through her lessons.

Aurora was eager to learn, however, and she drank in knowledge, the books fuelling her vivid fancies of life beyond the glade. Her small world was bounded by trees and streams and her aunts’ constant admonitions not to stray beyond this bucolic, lonely existence. She devoured stories of fairies and princes, pirates and kings; as a child she played them out, always aided by her Pretty Bird.

But her favourite legends of all were those of the one-eyed god and his ravens, to whom he had given the gift of speech.

Aurora sighed, set down the quill that she had fashioned from one of Diaval’s very own black feathers. ‘Oh, Pretty Bird, I wish you could talk.’

He hopped closer, chucking gently.

‘Not that you aren’t the most wonderful friend,’ she added quickly, fearing she had hurt his feelings. ‘I love you dearly just as you are. But it would be so nice if you could talk back to me.’

He fluffed up his feathers, shook himself. There was always kindness in his eyes, she thought, such a gentle sweet expression.

‘You could tell me about all of the places that you fly over. And the Moors.’

He let out a caw, head tilted. She smiled.

‘I know you go there - I’ve seen you fly towards them.’

His head lifted, defiant; and then dipped. Aurora twisted her fingers into the thick feathers at the back of his neck.

‘Pretty Bird. And perhaps you could tell me-’ She paused and he turned his head, looking at her inquisitively. There was a yearning note in her fresh young voice. The longing clouded the sunshine of her face. ‘Nothing.’ She went back to petting him and his eyes drifted closed under her ministrations.

If Pretty Bird could talk, he might be able to tell her about her Fairy Godmother. Or if her shy protector ever came close enough for Aurora to talk to, she might persuade her to grant her one wish. Not grand clothes or a handsome prince (although, they would be very nice), but to give her dearest friend a voice so that he could talk back to her. So that there were more than just her aunts and the voices in her head. Perhaps it was only gods and not fairies who could make birds and animals speak but it would be worth asking.

It was an old familiar dream but, still, one day, she thought. Hoped. One day...


	8. Once Upon a Dream

Aurora had said that she was not afraid, would not be afraid, and it was true. It wasn’t fear that made her drop back a step when her godmother, finally, stepped out of the shadows.

Her picture books had shown fairies as delicate, ethereal, dressed in flower petals with gauzy wings. She had been expecting a shy pale creature and while her Fairy Godmother was certainly pale, she did not seem at all shy. Or delicate. Or gauzy. Her statuesque beauty was dark and imperious and intimidating and anyone would have fallen back out of awe.

But Aurora had known her presence all of her life, had taken comfort in the unwavering devotion of that distinctive shadow. And from the recesses of her memory came the sensation of being lifted in the air and feeling hard horn under her hands. How could she ever fear anyone who had loved her so well?

And then the joyous arrival of her Pretty Bird and she realised how long it had been since she had seen him - her growing list of chores and cold weather keeping her more indoors. It had made for a fractious few months in the small cottage, her aunts’ fussing and bickering suddenly more grating than they had been before.

Aurora wondered how she had never associated the clever raven with her godmother but _of course_ she would have sent him to keep her company. And then had come the moment of genuine shock when he had fallen forward in a swirl of black smoke and had become a man.

For a moment she could not quite believe that he was real. He seemed a being of moonlight and shadow but then he had bowed over her hand, kissed it, his fingers and lips warm and he smelt of heather and pine, wood and earth.

He looked at her with genuine affection, with something she thought was pride, and he had the same gentle warmth in his eyes that she remembered.

When Aurora woke the next morning, with no memory of how she had returned to the cottage and her bed, she felt an enormous sense of well-being. Not for a moment did she think it might have been a dream - she had dreamt of them too often to be fooled into believing that she had not seen the real thing.

The day passed in a haze, images of the Moors dancing in front of her eyes.

‘Will you get on with your chores!’ Her Aunt Knotgrass chased her back indoors, bemoaning the fact that Aurora seemed even more lost in a dream than usual.

Wisely, she did not tell her aunts about her Fairy Godmother. She imagined the uproar that would have erupted had she told them that she actually been in the Moors and had met with both a beautiful, awe-inspiring Fae and a shapeshifter-

No. They might _just_ come to terms with her godmother, but she could definitely not tell them about Diaval, no matter how courteous his manners. (Although, she thought, with the insight often gifted to the young, Aunt Thistlewit would probably be more amenable to his presence, provided his attention was on her and not Aurora.)

When night came and her aunts were safely asleep, she crept out of the cottage and made her way, as she had so many nights before, to the thorn barrier. She could feel every beat of her heart as she approached it, the ground frozen hard beneath her feet and every sound of wild creatures in the undergrowth amplified on the cold night air. Brilliant stars pierced thin cloud and it seemed as though everything around her was holding its breath in hopeful sympathy, waiting for her to be once again allowed into those strange and wonderful lands.

‘Godmother?’ Her voice was absorbed by the winter night, falling into the back trees and fearful tangle of branch and thorn.

And then the soft sigh of wings and a gentle caw that was rough velvet against her ears.

‘Diaval!’

He spread his wings, bowing in greeting just like before and then hopped across the twisted branches, looking back at her and she followed him until a gap opened itself up and she passed through. The thorns twined themselves together again once she was through; she walked quickly, keeping up with Diaval as he pirouetted about her head - and then tumbled through the air, his feet hitting the ground and he coughed through the smoke.

‘Hello,’ he said, dusting off his hands and making minute adjustments to his coat. He offered his arm and Aurora took it, her smile up at him radiating a palpable joy. She skipped alongside him, pulling on his arm with every bounce.

‘I was afraid I wouldn’t be allowed back in - that Godmother might not want me here.’

There was an odd sort of amusement in his expression. ‘You wouldn’t be if she didn’t.’

Her face was bright as the sun. ‘I’m so happy!’

Diaval returned the smile and gloried in the beauty and pure wonder of this little fledgling. Their fledgling. They had done this together.

Her attention was everywhere, peering at the Moor flowers that did not grow beyond its borders, at the deep glow of lights and the faces that watched her from behind trees and rocks, too wary of a human creature to yet show themselves but they were attracting a small procession - all manner of fairies who marvelled at the return of the human creature that their queen had brought to the Moors. And then Diaval himself, so dark and strange and warm and reassuring.

‘Does it hurt when you change?’

He chuckled hoarsely. ‘Nah. It feels ... a bit like being tickled’ -he chucked her under the chin and she giggled- ‘but all over and on the inside. Although, it is nice to have some warning before it happens,’ he added, raising his voice, an admonition to the darkness before them and the being waiting there.

She frowned, puzzling it out. ‘Don’t you change yourself?’

‘No, my- Your ... Godmother ... does it. As needed.’

‘Ah.’ Aurora nodded wisely. Then: ‘You still have feathers in your hair.’ She reached up and pulled at the glossy black tip curling up from his hair. He yelped and she fell back a pace, stared at him. ‘It’s- It’s attached.’

‘Of course it’s attached, they’re my feathers!’

The looked at one another and then Diaval’s face creased in sympathy and he pulled her arm back through his. ‘I’m a bird, Aurora. A raven, so I am.’

‘Oh...’ Her eyes wandered over him, and she saw the markings around his eyes and his sharp black talons. ‘Oh, is it fun being a bird? Did you actually hatch from an egg? It must be wonderful to be able to fly, is it?’

He laughed again, a cawing sound, she realised, like a raven’s cry. ‘Yes,yes and yes.’

‘I thought that you turned into a raven,’ she murmured, not quite looking at him, embarrassed that she had not realised the truth. He gave her arm a reassuring squeeze.

‘It’s nothing to worry about,’ he told her, amusement and mischief chasing across his face. ‘I do make a very convincing human.

She giggled again. ‘You make a wonderful human.’

He nodded proudly and his chin lifted as they entered a glade, grass frosted hard white under their feet. ‘She’s here, Mistress.’

‘So I see.’ Her resonant voice drifted out from a thicket of ash trees and then she stepped into the open, moonlight glinting against her horns, her gold eyes glittering. ‘Hello, Beastie.’

Aurora felt her heart beat harder, a happiness so great it was like a pain. ‘Hello, Godmother.’


	9. True Love

For Aurora, the Moors were an unending source of fascination and she found something to love in all of their inhabitants, from the majestic Balthazar to the diminutive Pinto. And they seemed so happy to welcome her, willing to give her their trust.

She could be happy here, she thought. Even though the only beings who remotely resembled herself (that she had met) were her godmother and Diaval, she felt more herself in the Moors, more accepted and _loved_ than she ever had. Her aunts were very kind and they had - as they always reminded her - given up everything to look after her, but she had always had the sense that they wanted her to be something that she was not.

Here, in the Moors, no-one cared if she went barefoot, threaded flowers through her hair, wallowed in the streams or gazed at the stars for so long that she would forget to breathe (the last not quite true, Diaval would always remind her to breathe).

And Diaval, just as he had been when he could only caw and flap his wings at her, was her playmate and protector: joining in her games with the fairies and pixies and then setting about fixing her clothes and her hair when they were finished.

Her godmother did not join the games, seemingly content to watch from a distance. But sometimes there was a look in her face that Aurora couldn’t understand, a look of such tenderness and loss that she wanted to throw her arms about that proud upright figure and hug her until all of the hurts went away.

She did not.

Maleficent did not invite embraces and while Aurora’s nature was impulsive and affectionate, she recognised the reticence in the older woman and she was intelligent enough to realise that lack of demonstrativeness did not equate with lack of feeling. The only physical displays of affection on her godmother’s part were only and always directed at Diaval and even then only when he was in his full feathers.

They sat in a glade of dappled sunshine and cold shadow. The frigid air bit Aurora’s cheeks, but she didn’t care. She pulled her cloak tighter around her body, tucked her hands into the folds. If she froze, it would not matter - the Moors were happiness and home.

As ever, Maleficent sat slightly away from her but Aurora was aware, always, of those watchful gold eyes rimmed with summer green.

And she saw the way the girl hunched over herself, saw that her cloak - though of fine enough wool, suitable for a princess who spent little time out of doors - was not robust or thick enough for the cruel coldness of their winter climate. And she felt another stab of anger towards the pixies. Ridiculous creatures they may be, but nothing could excuse their incompetence and their treachery. They had turned their backs on their own kind, but for all the attention they paid Aurora they may as well not have bothered.

Maleficent waved her fingers and dry twigs and moss gathered themselves, piled up and then ignited under a blast of gold. Aurora moved closer, holding out her hands to the warmth.

She smiled to herself as the joyous warmth penetrated her skin, buzzing gently along her bones. Her godmother’s embraces may not have been physical things, but they were still tangible; Aurora could still feel her warmth. She glanced at the fairy, saw her eyes fixed on the horizon and then the sudden, slight, softening of those controlled features. Dark wings circled lazily on a high current, then tucked against his body and he dropped, fast, his talons dropping something at Maleficent’s feet before he landed neatly on the head of her staff. Her stiff lines eased minutely and she reached out, automatically, to caress his black feathers. And then tendrils of gold touched him and Diaval fell forward, tripping over her feet and his own and regarded the pile he had presented.

‘Black nuts,’ he said, with an air of triumph. ‘The first of the season.’

Aurora scrambled up, eager to see. ‘What are they? Can I try?’

‘They’re a delicacy,’ he told her, handing her one. ‘But don’t eat too many - they’re good, but very rich. You’ll be sick if you eat a lot of them too fast.’

‘And you should know,’ Maleficent remarked, long elegant fingers retrieving one for herself.

He scowled at her. ‘That was one time.’

Aurora cracked open the shell, extracted the nut. It was dark and shiny, its surface so smooth it was almost like a mirror. She popped it into her mouth and-

‘Oh! It’s wonderful!’ She reached for another.

‘What did I just say about not eating too many?’

Aurora looked at him plaintively and Diaval shook his head slightly.

‘Well... One more won’t hurt.’ She beamed at him and he leaned towards her, conspiratorial. ‘Between you and me,’ he said in a low voice that easily carried to where Maleficent sat, ‘someone else around here is very partial to these. But if you _really_ want to impress her, her favourite is honey from the south cliffs.’

Aurora giggled, shunted around until she sat cross-legged in front of him, firelight glinting against her hair. ‘Is it hard to find?’

‘Very. It takes a lot of skill - not to mention some hard bargaining. Those bees don’t surrender their honey that easily.’

Aurora worked her thumbnail around the seam of her nut’s shell, coaxing it apart. ‘Are all ravens as clever as you?’

‘Well,’ he said, falsely modest, ‘we are the cleverest of all birds.’

‘And you’re the cleverest of all. You must be the King of Ravens.’

Diaval laughed. ‘No, I’m just an old raven now. And while as a species we’re very kingly birds, ravens don’t have royalty.’

‘Well, they should.’ She tried hitting the nut against a rock and then started picking off the resultant bits of splintered shell. ‘I should think that all of the other ravens bring their problems to you.’

From her seat on the raised roots of an oak tree, Maleficent leaned forward very slightly.

Diaval was still and a series of fleeting emotions chased across his face.When he answered he kept his tone light. ‘Most ravens don’t have much to do with me.’

Aurora’s hands stilled, puzzlement creasing her smooth forehead. ‘But you must know so much more than they do.’

He inclined his head. ‘I do that.’ Things that no raven had ever known, possibly should never have known. ‘And that’s why, you see. They know I’m not really like them anymore.’

‘But...’ Aurora pulled in a breath; she glanced at Maleficent - the fairy was absorbed in picking invisible threads off the skirt of her robe. ‘But that’s horrible.’

‘It’s natural,’ he said gently. ‘They don’t understand it. And they’re afraid of what they don’t understand. But it’s not that bad. My brothers and sisters had hatchlings and I still talk to them. And besides,’ he took her chin gently between the fingers of one hand, ‘don’t I have the most beautiful fledgling in the world as my very own?’

‘Oh, Diaval!’ She flung her arms around his neck. He returned her embrace, kissing the top of the golden head where it lay against his shoulder.

Maleficent watched them and marvelled, again, at how it was that Diaval could so easily receive affection and bestow it in return. How he seemed to always know what to say and have no trouble at all in saying it. He looked at her over the top of Aurora’s head and smiled at her. In another life, she thought, in another life she might go to them, embrace Aurora, embrace both of them. Longing so sharp it hurt in its ferocity. Maleficent turned her head, and when she looked back Aurora was sitting beside him while he cracked open the black nut for her, his sharp talons better suited to the task.

The second tasted even better than the first, Aurora decided; and then Diaval told her how they were really at their finest when toasted and nothing would do but she had to try them _right then_ and Diaval, laughing, set about creating a make-shift brazier from thin slabs of flat stone.

Crouched beside the fire, watching as he raked over the red glow of burning wood and balanced the stones over the heat, Aurora turned her face up to his. ‘How _did_ you become a man?’

Diaval straightened and there was delight in his face at having an audience for his story. ‘Ah! Well now, that’s quite the tale. It was before you were even born, and I was only a young raven-’

‘A fledgling?’ she asked, trying to accustom herself to his bird’s view of things.

‘No... No, I was older than you are now. We’d all fledged but most of us hadn’t taken a mate yet. Well, except for my sister Róisín, but then she was always very determined. First out of the nest, so she was. Anyway, we had largely gone our separate ways by then and so there I was, innocently minding my own business at the edge of a wheat field-’

‘And helping yourself to the wheat,’ Maleficent murmured.

He eyed her withindignation. ‘I was not! I didn’t have time. Anyway, the next minute if there isn’t a pack of dogs coming all snarling and drooling to chase my beautiful self and if there isn’t the farmer throwing a net over me.’

Aurora’s eyes were wide, fixed on him.

‘And dogs are vicious creatures, by the way. Dirty things.’ He glanced at Maleficent and raised his voice slightly. ‘And they hate birds.’

She rolled her eyes.

‘So I’m under the net and the dogs are barking and snarling and begging their master to let them finish me off and the farmer is standing over me with a cudgel that he’s about to bring down on my poor head and take me out of this world forever. And then I feel it... Rushing through me like hot sunlight and I can feel it stretching me. And the dogs start whimpering and run away with their mangy tails between their legs and the farmer isn’t far behind, wailing that it’s a demon that he’s caught in his net. And all of my beautiful feathers have disappeared’ -he held his hand up in front of his face, mimicking the look of horrified surprise he had worn all those years before- ‘and I’m not a raven anymore. And then I realise that there’s someone watching me and I turn, and out of the shadows-’

‘It was broad daylight.’

‘Out of the blinding sunlight-’

‘It was overcast, actually.’

Diaval let out a frustrated exclamation. ‘It’s called poetic licence! And now you’ve only gone and ruined the flow.’

Maleficent held up her hands, inclining her head with an approximation of an apology that fooled nobody. ‘Do continue. Out of the cloudy, shadowy sunlight..?’

He glared at her for a moment and then turned his attention back to Aurora. ‘Out of a thicket stepped my saviour.’

‘And you’ve been together ever since!’ Aurora’s face shone, her eyes star-bright.

‘Like moss on a stone,’ Maleficent said.

Diaval squinted at her. ‘Did you just call me moss?’

‘Would you rather be the stone?’

He thought about it. ‘I’m not certain.’

And then he turned his attention back to the very important matter of toasting black nuts.

As far as Aurora was concerned, it was the most romantic tale she had ever heard, far better than anything in any of her storybooks. One day, she thought, she too would have a true love and he would look at her the way that Diaval looked at Maleficent, as though she were his whole world; and Aurora would feel utterly content and complete, the way that her godmother so obviously did whenever Diaval returned to her side.


	10. White Winter Hymnal

There was, Diaval thought, something excited in Aurora’s manner as he escorted her through the Moors. Not to mention the basket on her arm, with its checked cloth carefully tucked in, that she wouldn’t let him see. In his man form he may be, but his scavenger’s nose still detected something warm and wonderful nestling in the fabric and wicker.

‘Can’t I even have a peek?’

Laughing, Aurora batted his hand away. ‘No!’

‘At least give me a clue.’

She was still laughing when they reached Maleficent, her hands rimmed in gold were resting against the damaged trunk of a birch tree. Aurora had seen her godmother working on her lands only a few times but it always stole the breath from her lips to see it.

The fairy straightened, took hold of the staff she had left leaning against a nearby rowan and then turned.

‘Hello, Beastie.’

It was, if Aurora were to really think about it, an odd sort of endearment. But she knew it for what it was, and she knew what her godmother truly meant when she said it.

Still with her arm through Diaval’s, Aurora smiled back at her and its brightness rivalled even the warm flare of gold that Maleficent bestowed on the things that she loved.

Aurora placed her basket on the ground, still hardened with frost, started to unwrap the contents. ‘It’s the end of winter festival,’ she explained. ‘People give each other gifts. It isn’t much, and I dare say that the honey isn’t _quite_ as good as that from the south cliffs’ -although, it was from the hives tended by her Aunt Flittle and she _did_ seem to have an affinity for things like that and her honey _was_ very good- ‘but I thought you might like these.’

She looked at Maleficent and Diaval shyly holding out the cloth containing the honey cakes she had made, still with residual warmth from the oven.

They looked at her and each other. There was a question - an accusation - in Maleficent’s eyes and Diaval shrugged helplessly in response.

Maleficent shook her head slightly. ‘We don’t have anything for you, Beastie.’

Aurora’s smile widened. ‘I know. It doesn’t matter. I just wanted you to- I wanted to give you both something.’

Lips slightly parted as though the words that had risen to them had been lost before their utterance, Maleficent stared at the offering. She was so still that only the rise and fall of her chest were any indication that she had not turned to stone.

Diaval watched her carefully and then cleared his throat. ‘It’s very kind, Aurora. They smell delicious.’

‘You can’t have nothing,’ Maleficent said abruptly. Her eyes took in their surroundings, the whole of the Moors and beyond, it seemed, in that restless gaze and then she fixed on Diaval. ‘I need one of your feathers.’

His own eyes widened slightly. ‘What for?’

A flicker of one eyebrow and her chin lifted. ‘Need I remind you, again, of what you said?’

He sighed and, wincing extravagantly, plucked one of the feathers from his hair. Maleficent took it, took up a handful of fallen twigs from the base of the birch. She held it all in the palm of one hand, with the other waved her long fingers over it, shimmering gold twining around the little heap of wood and feather. Things softened, became pliant, twisting about each other; the feather itself was gilded, gleaming as though burnished. It was held in an intricate circlet of twisted birch twigs that had been turned to gold, the fluid shapes exquisite in their delicacy.

‘There.’ Maleficent held out the brooch to Aurora. ‘It’s from both of us.’

Utterly distracted by the golden gleam, Diaval’s eyes followed the movement of the tiny gift. ‘It shines so, Mistress...’

Aurora’s gaze was, likewise, fixed on the brooch. She took it in both her hands, barely breathing as she took in its lines and the weight of it.

Shaking himself out of his reverie, Diaval took it in his own fingers and pinned it to her cloak.

She traced its contours, smiled up at him. ‘It’s the most beautiful thing in the world. Oh, thank you!’ Arms about his neck, tight, and she kissed his cheek, then released him just as suddenly. She made to embrace Maleficent, an impulsive gesture that carried all of her overflowing enthusiasm. But she held herself back.

Maleficent blinked, slowly, twice and then made an almost imperceptible gesture, holding out her arms so very slightly that it would have gone unnoticed.

Aurora noticed and, carefully, wrapped her own arms around her godmother’s waist. They stood for a moment. Maleficent breathed, fast and shallow, staring at some unknown point. And then she let out a long breath, her eyes closed, and her arms folded around the girl.

She was warm and living and _loving_. She was the greatest surprise of the fairy’s life. And her greatest gift. She tightened the embrace and felt something course through her, something fierce and wild and sweet.

She felt it vibrate with the golden thrum of Diaval’s heart alongside her own and closed her eyes against the hot tears that blinded her.

Standing slightly apart from them, Diaval allowed them this moment, rejoiced in it. And didn’t bother to hide the tears that he brushed away with a clumsy hand.

‘Pull yourself together.’ Maleficent’s voice sounded suspiciously thick, a tightness in her throat.

‘I will if you will,’ he said.

Instead of responding with her habitual defensiveness, the fairy allowed herself that rare indulgence of a genuine smile and rested her chin on top of Aurora’s head. The girl’s arms had tightened more until she could feel the breath catch in her throat and laughed lightly, detaching her clinging ... goddaughter.

‘Come on, Beastie.’ Her voice was more gentle than Aurora had ever heard it, the gold eyes that looked down at her tender. ‘We should try your cakes - before Diaval eats them all.’

‘Now, that’s slander!’ he objected, cheerfully oblivious to the betraying sweet, sticky crumbs at the corner of his mouth.

Her arm still gently around Aurora’s shoulders, Maleficent tilted her head a fraction. ‘How many have you had?’

‘One!’ A pause. ‘All right, two. But I was just checking they were all right.’

‘And?’

‘I don’t think you’ll like them, so you should probably let me eat them for you.’

Maleficent twitched her fingers and the basket arced through the air, landing neatly at her feet. ‘You’ve just forfeited any more.’

Diaval was outraged. ‘Oh, come on!’

Later, sitting against the broad trunk of a dormant oak, they watched Aurora share out the last of the honey cakes with an eager group of fairies. Her face held all of the light and hope that her name implied.

Diaval crossed his arms behind his head, leaned back. ‘We did something right with that girl.’

Her eyes moved from Aurora’s face to his and she studied his profile meditatively. ‘Yes. We did.’


	11. Wings - Part Two

Aurora had never been prone to nightmares. Her cheerful disposition leant itself, naturally, to sleep undisturbed by darkness and discord. And any childish terrors had always been soothed by the shimmer of gold and the sigh of feathers.

And then she had asked about her godmother’s wings and in her dreams she had seen a man with a blade in his hands. She heard a scream and the sound was filled with such despair that it seemed as though no one hearing it could live through its anguish. She saw bleeding stumps on a girl’s back, her body curled tight, her horns pressed into the tangled boundary of her nest.

She woke herself with weeping.

Spring was coming to the Moors, its colours shifting and the earth softening as the frost melted, sinking down to awaken seeds. But still Aurora shivered, cold in her bones and her eyes heavy and shadowed. She was subdued, and Diaval watched her carefully, patient, and eventually she raised her head and said softly,

‘Godmother told me about her wings.’

He nodded slightly, sighed. ‘I know.’

‘Did you ever see... See her? Before..?’

‘No.’ Bent over her staff, her body still wracked with pain and the huge gulf that marked the _before_ and the _after_ and he wished, more than anything, that he could give her back the before, but it was impossible. And every moment of their lives had been marked by it ever since and sometimes he wondered if the mad king behind his castle walls still thought that it had all been worth it. ‘I only met her after that.’

She drew her knees towards her chest, wrapped her arms around them, tight. ‘Who could do such a terrible thing?’

For a moment, Diaval caught his breath and he could see, as clearly as though it were happening, telling her the truth. It was her curse and her fate and she had a right to know; but if she knew she would understand why Maleficent had done what she had done. He knew it as certainly as he knew his wings could carry him into the headwinds. She might be hurt, she would probably cry, but then she would understand.

And then they could keep her here in the Moors, protect her, and they would be happy in their strange little unkindness of three.

And for that moment he held all of the words on his tongue.

But they were not his to speak.

And so he put his arm around her slim shoulders and tucked her head under his chin. ‘A very bad man. But he will never hurt you, Aurora, I promise you that.’

She curled against him, her head against his shoulder; the leather of his coat squeaked as his embrace tightened and she felt his breath stir her hair. Her eyes were gritty with lack of sleep and her head was hot, aching. But there was comfort now and it seemed as though nothing terrible could ever happen again, not as long as she had her Pretty Bird, Diaval, so protective in his love.

‘Do you remember your father?’ Her voice was soft.

Diaval shifted slightly, moving until his back rested against a tree trunk but he could still hold her to him. ‘He was very big...’ He paused. ‘Well, he seemed very big, but I suppose I was just very small. He was very handsome, though.’

Aurora smiled. ‘Of course.’

‘He was a great one with the stories. Oh, the tales he would tell! All the old heroes and raven lore - like the Tale of Fechín the Father of Ravens, or the Story of Tassach the Lazy. A fine singing voice he had and he would sing to us, and my mother-’

There was silence for a time and Aurora raised her head. Diaval was staring beyond her, his face full of something that she couldn’t quite recognise but she felt a stir of sorrow and took his hand in hers, lacing their fingers together.

‘Was she beautiful?’

‘She was.’ His voice was soft and rough. ‘Her feathers shone and her eyes were bright as the stars. She was so patient, teaching us how to work our wings and trying to coax us out of our nest onto a branch. But then she’d fluff up her feathers and brood us and there was nothing so soft or so warm as her sitting over us.’ A smile played about the corners of his mouth. ‘Our father would bring us fine fat worms and shiny insects, but he’d always save the best ones for her. I remember seeing them sitting on the branch beyond our nest and he’d feed her all the fine things he’d found and then she’d nestle under his wing.’

Her head still in the curve of his shoulder, Aurora smiled. ‘Was that how you courted Godmother?’

He jolted, dislodging her. ‘I- What?’

She sat up, her blue eyes wide. ‘Courted her, like your father did your mother.’

Rising panic and he swallowed hard against it. ‘I didn’t- I’ve never- We’re not-’

He stared at her and she saw the dismay and the longing and the fear in his eyes. She sucked in a breath.

‘But- But, I thought- But you _love_ each other!’

His eyes dropped from hers. All of the innocent hope in her face felt like too much; how could he explain this to her when he could barely explain it to himself? When the feelings that had such clarity when he soared through the sky would become so derailed by the thoughts held in his treacherous man-body. Although, his raven’s mind was not quite so distinct as it had once been, things no longer so simple. All the long years in human skin had wrought changes that he didn’t always want to admit to.

He forced his gaze to Aurora’s and made himself smile with as much gentleness as he had in him. ‘There are many kinds of love, Aurora.’

It didn’t help, and Diaval watched with growing dismay as her face clouded and her eyes grew heavy and wet with unshed tears. Not understanding the reasons for her distress, he didn’t know how to comfort her and so set about teasing her out of her despondency instead.

‘Ah now, there’s no need for that.’ He used the edge of her cloak to catch the tears that traced their way down her cheeks, his words tumbling out. ‘And only think what will happen to my beautiful self if the Mistress sees you all upset after having been in my care. She’ll only be after turning me into something unspeakable. Like a cat.’

Aurora managed a faintly soggy giggle. ‘Are cats worse than dogs?’

He made a show of thinking about it, head tilted. ‘Well now… Dogs do hunt birds, but it’s only because they’re too stupid to know any better, I’ll be bound. Cats, on the other hand, now they do it because they like it. Devious little bas- Things.’

Her smile brightened a fraction. ‘What were you going to call them?’

He returned her a look of mock-severity. ‘Never you mind! Nothing fit for the hearing of a young fledgling, that’s all you need to know!’

Aurora passed the backs of her hands across her eyes and she seemed herself again. ‘I won’t be a fledgling for much longer. I’m nearly sixteen now! I’m practically grown up.’

Diaval caught his breath, his black eyes flaring. ‘Yes…’

Aurora kept her smile for the rest of the evening, all through playing with the fairies and Balthazar swinging her up high into the canopy so that she could see across the Moors and she meant every breath of laughter and every happy word. And she watched her godmother and Diaval, the way they moved around one another, and the glances, and the all the things that seemed to lie below the words that they said to one another and she understood even less than she had before.

There was no real reason to feel it so keenly, she told herself, this disappointment. And she knew that Diaval was right, of course he was, when he spoke of different kinds of love. But when she returned to the cottage in the dark hours and pulled the bedcovers over her lead-heavy limbs, Aurora cried.


	12. Heart Afraid of Breaking

Aurora finished her chain of cowslip, adding it to the layers already around her neck. Diaval, lounging elegantly on the grass, had a daisy crown slowly slipping down over one eye. Maleficent had accepted a bracelet of the same tiny white flowers, had even slid it onto her slender wrist, and was watching Aurora indulgently.

The Moors were on the cusp of abundance, their trees cloaked in shivering pale green, buds growing fat on each branch. Bluebells carpeted the stretches between trees and there was a sense of activity as birds and fairies gathered bits of moss and twig and spider silk to repair and line their new nests and pixies hollowed out shelters in the trees.

Aurora sighed happily, lying back on the long grass and looking up at the blue sky streaked by a handful of high, lazy clouds.

‘I love the spring,’ she sighed.

‘It’s grand,’ Diaval agreed. ‘Plenty of worms about, and the insects are fine and fat. And the mice...’

Aurora laughed, not quite hiding the grimace that Diaval’s choice of favourite foodstuffs frequently engendered. She wouldn’t have offended him for the world. She rolled onto her stomach, propping herself up on her elbows, feet idly playing through the air behind her. ‘They have great parties in the town to celebrate spring,’ she said.

‘Mmn.’ There would be precious little to celebrate this year, with King Stefan’s claim on resources biting harder than ever. And yet there was an ominous calm at the castle, everything suddenly still and horribly expectant. Diaval kept his eyes closed, concentrated on the sun against his face and the way it warmed the feathers lying across his scalp.

‘I’ve never been to a party,’ she said.

There was a non-committal noise from the seemingly-dozing raven. Her godmother was coaxing a reluctant new shoot of ivy to twine itself around the weathered branch of a fallen ash tree.

‘They have dancing,’ she persisted. ‘Can you dance, Diaval?’

‘Well-’

‘You could show me!’ She looked between him and Maleficent as though the thought had just struck her. ‘If you both dance, then I could copy you.’

‘I don’t dance, Beastie,’ Maleficent said flatly.

And that was the end of that.

It had been, Aurora reflected, possibly naïve to think that it would be so simple. As if she could trick her godmother into Diaval’s arms and then she would just ... stay there. Even so, it was a little galling to see her grand plan unravel as easily as her Aunt Knotgrass’ knitting before it had even begun.

Diaval saw disappointment in Aurora’s face and, as always, set about trying to fix it. ‘I’ve seen human dancing, though I’ve never actually tried it myself. But there’s not much to it, from what I can see. I mean, it’s not like flying.’ He paused. ‘I do sing, however-’

‘Don’t encourage him,’ Maleficent said. ‘All of his songs end with people dying.’

He shot her a reproachful look. ‘Now that is not true! What about the Ballad of Neacht and Aimhirghin? If they don’t fly off into perpetual summer together!’

‘Yes,’ Maleficent replied steadily. ‘After he’s stoned to death and she impales herself on a thorn bush.’

It should, Maleficent thought, have been impossible to take seriously - even slightly - a man with a circlet of daisies performing a slow slide down his glossy hair. And something in Diaval’s air of offended superiority should have invited ridicule. Instead, she felt a betraying smile pull at the corners of her mouth and that sudden rush of affection that was always so much easier to deal with and label and make smaller when he was raven-shaped and she could bury her fingers in the warm silk of his feathers without comment.

Diaval, sitting upright, shook his head slowly, his flower crown catching over one ear, and regarded her with a combination of pity and disdain. ‘Their love survives death - that’s the point of the story.’

Aurora pushed herself up onto her knees, her eyes gleaming with the fervour of a new idea. ‘It sounds very romantic! Can you sing it now?’

‘I thought you two were supposed to be dancing,’ Maleficent put in, suspiciously swiftly.

Diaval’s dark gaze narrowed a fraction. ‘Are you trying to impugn my singing? I am a songbird, you know.’

She hesitated for the merest second. ‘Not at all... But it does take you an hour to sing it.’

‘Only,’ he replied, with crushing dignity, ‘when people keep interrupting.’ Diaval stood, brushing grass off his hands and straightened his errant crown. ‘But it’s probably not the best song for dancing, I’d have to admit.’ He held his hands out to Aurora; she grasped them and he pulled her up.

They faced one another. ‘Now, I bow,’ he performed a ceremonious bow that would have been remarked on in any court only for the fluid grace of the movement, ‘and you curtsey.’

Aurora complied and then again took the hands that he held out to her. He guided her through the steps, his movements quick and light. After the complicated swoops and loops and rolls that he could perform in the air, the steps of a simple reel were as nothing and Aurora, her face bright with joy, found herself envying his ease of movement.

Their dance had been observed by a growing audience of Moorfolk. There were a few jeers - pixies, usually the more uncouth type of Fae - but the majority were entranced; and after some moments, Aurora and Diaval were joined on the banks of the stream by fairies and sprites, eager to learn this new form of entertainment.

And from a distance, as was customary, Maleficent watched them, watched the crowd growing around them, heard Aurora’s bubbling laughter mingle with Diaval’s hoarse cackle.

The girl was a true child of the Moors, no matter what her parentage or species. She belonged to these lands as surely as Maleficent did herself, loved and understood them as though they were a part of her.

She should have taken her. When the girl-child had toddled towards her, demanding to be lifted in her arms, she should have kept her, brought her back to the Moors.

Once the thought, if she had even had the thought then, would have been that making Stefan’s child love her would have been the worst punishment for him and she would have enjoyed it.

Her only thought of Stefan now was that he didn’t deserve this glorious, golden girl and the idea that he might taint and corrupt her shining heart was more than Maleficent could bear.

They should have stolen her away. She should have enchanted the castle, the entire kingdom, into forgetting that Aurora had ever existed.

She would soon be sixteen, the time marked now in days rather than weeks, and Maleficent felt the heaviness of each passing moment, the weight pressing against her fractures until it felt as though she would break under the misery of her own making, guilt tangling through every thought and feeling, choking her.

Long after Aurora had returned to the cottage, Maleficent stood, cloaked in shadow, on a bare rise above the tree line, looking out across the Moors, past the jagged wall of thorns tearing the lands and towards the dark towers of the castle. She felt his presence behind her, caught his warm scent of earth and pine and feather.

‘Mistress?’

‘It’s almost time.’

‘I know.’ He let out a sigh of breath, crossed to her cautiously. ‘It’s not over yet - there may still be a way.’

No matter what she did, no matter what formula of words, no matter what bargain she tried to make, the curse remained. She could feel it hardening, gathering, a serpent ready to strike and she had wrought it out of her own anger and despair.

Maleficent’s red lips curled. ‘What do you suggest? That we kidnap her and hold in her in the Moors?’

‘Would that work, do you think?’ Scepticism coloured his words and yet even with that, even now, he was still willing to try.

‘I don’t take what isn’t mine,’ she said, steel glittering beneath her words, masking her regret.

A pause. Then, cautious:

‘If we told her-’

Her bark of laughter scored the air. ‘Told her? And then what?’

He sighed again. ‘I don’t know. But it couldn’t be any worse than this. She’d understand-’ Another laugh, and she shook her head. ‘That girl loves you.’

She faced him then and the sincerity in his black eyes hit her like a blow. ‘This isn’t one of your stories, Diaval.’ There was a tremor in her voice. ‘You can’t believe that love really survives death.’

She saw the stubborn tightening of his mouth.

‘Or a curse that’s like death.’

He sucked in a breath and Maleficent flicked her hand, changing him before he could say anything else.


	13. Fate

The old cart-horse that had happily been growing lazy and fat in the pasture beside the cottage was no less surprised to find itself being ridden towards the castle than Aurora was to find herself riding there.

She had a father living, someone of her own blood and this strange new knowledge was the thing that she clung to on this day when everything else had slipped away like sand running between her fingers.

As a child she had thought of castles as being bright places, filled with music and laughter and learning - fine lords and great ladies who would glow with their majesty and wisdom.

The castle of King Stefan - her _father!_ \- was dark and grimly silent and the soldiers on the gate eyed her with suspicion and she felt very, very small. And afraid. And then there was that terrible, monstrous body of iron, twisting through the entrance, the jagged spikes reminiscent of the wall of thorns and she thought of the stories she had learnt as a child, of how iron was used to burn and destroy the fair folk and something that she could not yet name echoed in her mind. But this was her father’s castle and when she saw him, everything would make sense.

It didn’t.

For one brief second there had been something like tenderness in his haggard face, when he had mentioned her mother, and then he had dismissed her, waving his hand to send her away as though she had been a troublesome fly.

And as she had been led away she was sure that he had spoken of Maleficent.

She had been taken through winding corridors that smelled of dust and the cold and then a plump woman with a slack, puffy face had thrown her arms around her, weeping, and told Aurora that she had once been her nurse.

Aurora accepted the embrace without much enthusiasm; the woman’s name was Janet, she told her, and she took Aurora to a grand room in a high tower.

It was filled with toys and exquisite tapestries. Everything gleamed as though it had all been polished, meticulously, waiting for someone to enter it. But Aurora was too old for the toys and the tapestries looked like pale, twee imitations of what the Moors actually were and the rooms themselves were cold and empty. Lifeless.

And she thought again about the twisting iron barricade and the burn of it against a fairy’s skin.

Janet fussed about her. ‘You poor child,’ she crooned, stoking the fire and trying to coax Aurora into a fine gown of velvet and silk that she resisted. ‘All those years in the woods with those creatures! I know His Majesty meant it for your own good, but really! Och, it was never right and I’ve always said so. You should have been here, Your Highness, where we could have looked after you proper.’

Aurora paced, feet slipping on the mirror-like floor. This was her birthright. This was her blood. She badly wanted to get out. The walls were pressing in on her.

‘There are lots of soldiers,’ she murmured.

‘Aye, well, they’re needed. There’s a terrible great battle coming, Your Highness, and we need all the protection we can get.’

Aurora’s feet stopped their restless pattern across the room; she frowned, her head tilting in an unconscious imitation of an inquisitive black raven. ‘Who is coming?’

Seated by the fire, Janet’s hand clutched reflexively at her own throat and she shuddered. ‘The Witch of the Moors and that demon of hers.’

‘Demon?’

The woman’s indistinct features creased, eyes darting fearfully. ‘Diablo.’ Her voice was barely a whisper. ‘He’s a wicked creature. They say he takes the form of a big black bird - but he’s the very devil!’

It took almost a full minute before Aurora realised that she was talking about Diaval. And the idea that anyone could be afraid of Diaval, with his gentle heart and his kind eyes, was so ridiculous that she almost laughed out loud.

All the simple certainties of her life had been upended within less than an hour that day but if there was one thing that she believed in, like she believed she drew in air to breathe, it was that Diaval would never harm anyone. Not without good reason.

‘Have you met him?’

The old woman’s eyes widened in horror. ‘No! Thank heavens!’ Her fingers twitched, an old superstitious gesture to ward off evil spirits.

‘Then how do you know he’s evil?’

‘He’s _her_ familiar.’

‘And how do you know that she is evil?’ A quiet question, more of herself.

‘She cursed you, Princess.’

‘Yes, of course...’

Simple.

But Diaval loved Maleficent. And Diaval was truly good. Could he love someone who was not like himself?

She longed for him, for the comfort of his embrace and the way he called her his fledgling and would chuck her under the chin. Diaval would know what was the right thing to do. She wanted to see her godmother’s face, not the way it been when they had parted, so full of anguish and her eyes shadowed, but the way it had been when they had sat on the banks of the stream on the Moors. When she had joined, just for that moment, in the mud fight; when she had made a brooch out of twigs and feather and magic; when she held Aurora to her, her arms so uncertain and her love so strong, and Maleficent had embraced her as though not wanting to let her go.

Aurora’s head ached, eyes tired and hot. There was something buzzing under her skin, running through her fingers, sharpening into a pain as though she had been pricked. She flexed her hands.

The nursemaid saw her distress and said the things that she thought the young princess wanted to hear.

‘Don’t worry yourself, Your Highness. Your father defeated that witch once before - he can do it again.’

Hands twined around each other, worrying at the pad of one finger, Aurora looked up. ‘How did he defeat her?’

Before she had finished the question, she knew.

_‘Who could do such a terrible thing?’_

No.

‘ _A very bad man. But he will never hurt you, Aurora, I promise you that.’_

Please, no. She could not be part of someone who would do something like that.

‘He cut off her wings.’

Her stomach heaved, the world tilting and she took in air, trying to force down the bile.

The woman heaved herself out of her seat, waddled towards Aurora, patted her cheek, fingers clammy against her skin. ‘You’re safe here, Your Highness. You’re home.’

Aurora nodded dumbly, took a few steps back. She thought, tardily, of the boy she had met in the woods and wondered if he had made it to the castle. And if he had, and if she could find him, then maybe she could persuade him to take her back to the Moors. She knew, with just as much certainty as Stefan but for so many different reasons, that Maleficent and Diaval were coming; and she thought of them caught in that hideous trap of iron thorns and her heart screamed.

She had to get out but pleading did her no good.

The room with its high ceilings, its expensive furnishings and its icy chill was as much a prison as any dungeon.

Her finger ached, skin reddening from her scratching at it and the world was slipping away from her. A pool of shadow and green fire seemed to open at her feet and she couldn’t help herself: she fell into it.


	14. Dreams

_1\. Aurora_

Somehow, she was in the Moors; but these were not quite the Moors as she had come to know them. They were brighter, their colours glowing under a summer sun. And there was a child, great of heart and greater still in her compassion and her love and her innocence, and there were curved horns rising from her head and her wings-

Her wings.

 _Her_ wings.

For Aurora, it was as though one of her picture-books had come to life but this was a book with as much of anguish and grief as there was joy and light.

She saw a boy in rags who threw away his one treasure that he might touch a fairy’s hand. She saw that boy, fully grown, betray and maim that same girl who had loved him with her whole heart.

A great heart. And a man with a blade in his hand. She heard a scream and the sound was filled with such despair that it seemed as though no one hearing it could live through its anguish. She saw bleeding stumps on a girl’s back, her body curled tight, her horns pressed into the tangled boundary of her nest.

If she could, Aurora would have woken herself with weeping.

There was loneliness and pain. And then there were dark wings and black eyes and a fragile body that held a mighty heart, one that served and guarded and loved the dark fairy of the Moors as much as he did the golden-haired child in the forest. His feathers were black but he was bright with hope. He watched over the girl, nurtured her, with more tenderness than her appointed guardians; and like him, or perhaps because of him, the fairy, with her broken, flinty heart and her body made a battleground by the greed of man, also watched and protected and saved and loved the girl.

Images that Aurora knew by heart played across her mind. There were voices, indistinguishable and jumbled, until one spoke and everything else fell silent. Love and regret. A sacred promise. And then a kiss against her skin and all of the darkness fell away, a dawning of a new life.

When she opened her eyes, she saw the faces of the two people she loved best in all the world and she smiled.

* * *

_2\. Maleficent and Diaval_

Aurora eased herself up, her head still spinning weirdly. She leaned against Maleficent and the fairy put her arm around the girl’s slender shoulders. Gold shimmered between her fingers, sinking into Aurora’s skin, finding her hidden hurts and soothing them.

‘And there was you telling me that there’s no such thing as true love.’ Diaval’s eyes were brighter than ever, his voice a rasp.

Aurora bounced off the bed, catapulting herself into his arms. He caught her, black talons tangling in her hair. ‘I’m so glad you’re here! I missed you so much.’

He laughed slightly, brushing the hair away from her bright face. ‘You saw me yesterday, you know.’

‘It feels like longer,’ Aurora said, hugging him hard.

Maleficent watched them, her hand tight around her staff, trying to make sense of the vortex of emotions swirling through her chest. Joy so profound it was like a pain; shock that the thing she had been so sure did not exist so very clearly did. That she should be capable of it. That her poor cold heart could still beat out of love.

She felt the swelling thrum of Diaval’s heart run alongside her own, the warmth that had become so familiar she no longer wondered at it, but now she did again and wondered if maybe his warmth had worked its way through, had found a tiny ember in her and coaxed it back to life.

A strange sort of magic, all of his very own.

Still clinging to Diaval’s arm, Aurora tugged him towards Maleficent and her bright joy eclipsed the gilding on the furnishings of the fine chamber where she had been left in her sleep. ‘Can we go home now? Back to the Moors?’

Maleficent’s breath seemed to leave her all in a rush. Forgiveness could not be this simple; for a moment she wondered if the curse, in its infinite cunning, had rebounded on her in the cruellest way and she was herself lost in a dream.

‘If you like,’ she said, softly. If it was a dream, she did not want the waking.

And then something of Aurora’s radiance faded. ‘Godmother, there’s a barrier, a-a wall of iron-’

‘We know.’ Diaval gave her arm a reassuring squeeze. She stared up at him.

‘But how did you..?’

‘We walked through it.’ And he could still smell burnt flesh and though they had faded he knew the burns on her face and hands, felt the imprint of them as he had when they had branded her.

Aurora caught her breath, turned wide eyes to her godmother and raked her face. ‘Oh...’

Maleficent smiled, ignored the tightening in her throat at the sight of the girl’s concern. ‘I’m all right, Beastie.’ Her staff tapped on the cold marble floor, she moved around the bed, joining them on the other side.

Diaval was examining the rocking horse, watching with amusement as it swung back and forth under the pressure from his hand. ‘It’s a pity you can’t turn me into a Pegasus, Mistress.’

She tilted her head at him, frowning. ‘A what?’

He always relished being able to tell her something that he thought she should already have known. It was always wildly annoying when he did. Now was no exception. Just as she knew they would, the round black eyes widened. ‘A Pegasus.’ He nudged Aurora. ‘Go on - we learnt this one together.’

‘It’s a winged horse,’ she exclaimed happily, remembering her lessons under the birch trees and her Pretty Bird perched at her shoulder.

‘I could fly us all back to the Moors from this very room,’ he finished.

It was a tempting suggestion, but Maleficent wasn’t sure that such a creature even existed and had no idea what would happen to him if she tried it.

‘Or a dragon,’ he suggested, a note of hope in his voice.

Maleficent tilted her head, lips pursing slightly as she looked at him. ‘A little conspicuous, don’t you think?’

He sighed, accepting the truth of it resignedly.

But if they could just get outside...

‘Could you carry both of us as a horse?’ she asked, looking him over with a critical eye.

If he had had his feathers, they would have puffed up immediately. ‘Sure, I’m no weakling! _You_ weigh next to nothing, with your fairy bones; and as for this one-’ With one arm around Aurora’s waist, he lifted her effortlessly and she giggled before he set her back down. ‘Couldn’t I carry her with one wing? She’s practically a feather.’

‘Ridiculous bird,’ she murmured. ‘We need another way out of the castle.’

Their way in was probably the only one where they would not run into any guards, but Maleficent could still feel the draining effect of the iron and if they were to be trapped in it, all would be lost.

After so many years spent spying on the castle, Diaval knew most if not all of its routes and Maleficent shifted him into his wings. He circled them, landing briefly on Aurora’s shoulder to give her ear an affectionate nibble, before he passed his mistress and the tips of one wing brushed against her cheek.

They followed him, holding themselves tight and small, moving as noiselessly as possible. Before they stepped into the corridor that would take them to the castle’s main hall, Aurora caught hold of Maleficent’s sleeve.

‘Godmother.’

Staff in hand, the fairy turned.

Blue eyes searched her face and her smile was slow and hesitant. She needed for this to be right. ‘You don’t need it, but I do forgive you.’

Maleficent pulled in a breath, held it, and when she let go she took hold of Aurora’s hand for a moment. Then she righted herself and they both followed Diaval’s black wings and soft caws.


	15. Reckoning

**Part One - The Battle**

_1\. Maleficent_

This was the dream turned nightmare. She should have known that it was all too easy. They would never have been able to simply walk out of that castle. Diaval had said it, before they had even entered. And, of course, he had followed her into it anyway. Complaining, naturally, but he had followed her.

She felt the high thrum of his heart but, as always, his courage was greater than his fear.

She could feel it now, through the sickening wooziness caused by the iron; she could feel his strength and terror and anger. Only two things remained in her consciousness, burning harder and brighter than the iron that held her: Aurora, standing strong in the face of horrors of which she had had no conception until that day; and her brave, beautiful Diaval, his fragile raven body so breakable but he was prepared to take on a whole barrack’s worth of soldiers with beak and claw to defend the things he loved.

The shine of his black eyes and their perpetual hope and his belief in her and-

_Into a dragon._

_-_ and he would defend his precious fledgling to the very end. If nothing else, he would save their golden girl and there was an immense comfort in that.

Scales and vast leathery wings and fire and feathers - _of course, feathers_ \- and the rage she had felt resonate through his raven’s body was made over a thousand-fold and she knew he would pull down the whole castle if he had to. To save Aurora. To save _her._

The purity of his devotion burned like the fire he breathed.

She had seen a bird caught under a net and had pitied it, but she had never really thought of how helpless he must have felt, how terrified, until something so much larger and more powerful had stepped in.

The heavy iron lifted off her and the steady thrum of the past sixteen years was not alongside her heart. It _was_ her heart.

* * *

_2\. Aurora_

It felt wrong to run, to leave them, even if the world was now on fire. But she wasn’t a warrior, or an enchantress, or a shapeshifter. She was a girl from the woods, more comfortable barefoot and with leaves in her hair and she wanted nothing more than to go back to the safe, small life that she always known.

Through the first door that she came to and the room was cluttered, musty, something in it that held the smell of unhappiness and desperation. A ragged cloth over a large case and she didn’t really want to but Aurora approached it.

They were huge and dark and beautiful. Her godmother’s wings. She stared at the feathers once glossy but now dulled by dust and neglect and full horror of it struck her again.

And yet they lived.

Perhaps sensing that their lost mistress was close, they flailed, banging against the glass. The locks were old and stiff and there was no hope that she could find the key amidst the decaying piles that had been Stefan’s companions in the final years of his mania.

The case was bound in iron, heavy, and it took all of her strength to push it over and for the rest of her life she would never forget the sound of something set free, the rush of feathers and something for so long lost finally making its way home.

* * *

_3\. Stefan_

Over the years, he had not really given much thought to the girl growing up deep in the forest.

Leila had never forgiven him, their lives diverging from the moment of Aurora’s christening. The news of his wife’s death had been as that of a stranger’s. And then a stranger, with a look of her, stood before him and called him father. But when she fell into her sleep his anger was less at the loss of her and more at the evidence of Maleficent’s power.

She was near and he was ready; but when he heard of the guards found unconscious he knew she was in the castle, he tasted fear on his tongue, cold and metallic like the iron guarding his castle and girding his body. All the defences, all of the guards and the watching eyes but she had still got in, unseen, she hadn’t even bothered bringing an army...

He was so close to his victory, standing over her, just like all of those years before, and he would end it. So close, triumph replacing the fear and-

Wings.

In the air, framed by fire and the residual gold of her own bright magic, she was a dark angel and he remembered kneeling in the cold church before such an image, the stone hard under his knees. As a child he had been instilled with the fear of damnation, old superstitions he had left behind long ago but now he was surrounded by flame, the stench of burning flesh and wings beat the air.

Up on the balcony he saw her again, Aurora, his daughter and he saw the look that passed between her and the fairy. _She_ had done this, his own blood, given back to his enemy the things that could destroy him. In that moment, he hated the girl as much as he did Maleficent.

It was the last thought he had of her.

* * *

_4\. Phillip_

It seemed to Phillip that he had been running around in circles for days. Which, actually, he had: the forest and then the forest again and now the castle, which was where he was supposed to have been but he still had no idea how he had got there.

And then there had been those three strange little creatures who had been so very bossy - and weirdly strong, considering their size. Or lack thereof.

They had disappeared, searching for someone else to kiss the sleeping princess, which was not, in Phillip’s opinion, a particularly moral thing to do and it was absolutely the first and last time that he ever kissed a girl without her knowing about it. And without her actively wanting him to.

The corridors of the castle were oppressively dark and there was an atmosphere that he couldn’t quite name, but it quivered his skin and he could feel tension in the pit of his stomach. It was wholly unlike the bright warmth of his father’s castle at Ulstead.

And then there had come the rumbling that had shaken the very walls about him, the bellowing of some strange beast echoing though the corridors. People suddenly running and the stench of burning.

His first thought had been to find the battle and join it and his second had been that Aurora was still locked in her enchanted sleep - _again: what? why? how?!_ \- and someone should probably protect her from whatever it was that was besieging this grim castle.

But as much as he tried to retrace his steps, the more he realised that he was moving further away from her.

Panic-stricken servants - and even more panic-stricken soldiers - appeared from, and ran to, every direction.

And all the while came the reverberation of clanging iron and deep roars of fury.

Through what appeared to be the laundry rooms, barrelling through a door and cold night air bit his cheeks and he thought wildly that he had to get back into the castle, he had to guard the golden-haired girl but then - wonderfully, inexplicably - he was looking at her and her happiness was so intense it seemed to radiate off her, become a living thing that surrounded everything in sight.

All he could see was her, dazzling, and then the large black something beside her that he had taken for a piece of fallen masonry moved and he realised it was a huge taloned foot and he looked up and it was a dragon.

She was standing between the feet of a black dragon, feathers edging its leathery wings, smoke dribbling from its nostrils, and she was smiling.

Phillip reached for his sword and felt slightly sick.

A lot sick.

But he was a prince and he had been taught long ago that, as such, his duty when encountering a dragon was to slay it.

He had, jokingly, told his instructors that he was of the opinion that dragons were probably very misunderstood creatures and that reasoning with them might be a more effective way of arriving at a rapprochement.

Now confronted with a rather intimidating and unexpectedly befeathered example of the species, Phillip wondered just how one set about entering into dialogue with a dragon. Percival would never believe him when he told him. His fingers curled around the hilt of his sword and then he realised that there was someone else there, a woman, except that she wasn’t a woman, she had horns and great dark wings and glittering eyes. She was, he realised, the same woman he had seen in the forest - had she had wings then?! - and that was the last thing that he remembered before landing on a hard floor from a great height in the castle.

And then there was smoke, billowing black smoke and then the dragon wasn’t a dragon but a man who looked little less terrifying than he had as a dragon, now that he had a face that was a mask of soot and blood.

‘Oh God,’ Philip said softly.

* * *

**Part Two - Aftermath**

Diaval coughed, a hacking sound. When he spoke his voice was roughened by flame and his black eyes glittered wildly. ‘That was fun,’ he said, hoarse. ‘I wouldn’t mind being a dragon again, only maybe with fewer soldiers and spears next time.’

Aurora threw herself at him, her arms around his neck and he staggered slightly, not quite used to the feel of his man-body after having been so very large. But he stroked her dishevelled hair with one hand, his black talons curling into the golden locks and murmured to her gently.

Aurora looked up at him, and the laughter rushed from her face. ‘You’re bleeding!’

‘Ah, it’s nothing.’

He was shaking, the burn of magic, anger, fear and relief all racing through his body, spiking under his skin.

‘It is’t nothing!’ She turned appealing eyes to Maleficent and caught sight of Phillip, inching his way towards them with a sword clutched between his hands, knuckles whitened under the strain. ‘Oh!’

Maleficent’s head turned, her gold gaze spearing the approaching figure was effective as any weapon. ‘Who is this?’

‘It’s that boy.’ Diaval rasped at her.

‘Boy?’

‘You know. The one who steals kisses from innocent fledglings while they’re sleeping,’ he said, as though it had not been his idea to begin with.

‘They made me!’ There was a note of panic in Phillip’s voice. And wildness in his eyes. He gazed pleadingly at Aurora. ‘Who..?’

She returned a shy smile. ‘This is my godmother. Maleficent.’ She pronounced the words with relish.

Maleficent.

The sick feeling returned, intensified.

And if this was Maleficent, then it meant that the dragon-man was-

‘Diablo!’ Phillip’s eyes were suddenly wide, fear clouding their depths and turning his face slack. ‘The Demon of the Moors!’

Diaval rolled his eyes.

‘What?’ Maleficent’s voice was flat. She eyed the young prince as though he had but recently emerged from a bog and was about to be returned to it, head first.

‘Have I not told you about that, Mistress?’

A gold gaze turned to him, one elegant eyebrow arching.

‘They say far worse things about you,’ Diaval told her. ‘But at least they get your name right. I mean, is it really so hard to get your tongue around “Diaval”? But then that’s humans for you.’

As far as ferocious demons went, this was not quite what Phillip would have imagined. Diaval was still talking.

‘You know, I wonder sometimes how they’ve been able to write so many books and come up with music and paintings, because they’re not really-’

‘Diaval. You’re babbling.’

He nodded. ‘Yes. Right. Sorry, Mistress.’

And he did, she would have to admit, look rather monstrous with his onyx eyes glittering and his face smeared with blood and scorched by flame. Weals around his neck left by the heavy chains. It had not been his fight but he had fought it. He had never faltered. Not once. She reached out a hand until her fingers were a breath away from his face and a shimmer of gold caressed him.

He felt it as though it were her fingers twisting through his feathers, soothing all the hurts. He stared at her, not bothering to hide the reverence in his eyes.

‘Your wings...’

So, the rumours had been true. Their immense darkness, their fragility and their strength, and they were magnificent. He saw her as she should always have been and tears stung his eyes.

The moment stretched between them.

And then yells and the clash of steel pulled them all back into the reality. Soldiers, uncertain of where their duty lay but with an instinct to find an enemy and slay it, were pouring into the courtyard. From further away a shout went up:

‘The King is dead!’

Swords were up. Men, fearful and already bloodied, attempted to make and keep to some sort of formation.

Green flared at Maleficent’s fingers.

And then Phillip stepped forward, the cry rising automatically in response to the news of the fallen monarch.

‘Long live the Queen!’

Aurora looked immediately at Maleficent, realised that she and Diaval and Phillip were looking at her.

Oh.

_Oh..._

‘Long live the Queen!’ Phillip bowed to her.

The soldiers, confused, halted their approach, looked at one another. Some, more battle hardened, continued towards the little group.

‘No, oh no...’ Aurora’s voice was barely above a whisper.

‘They’re your guards now,’ Phillip said urgently. ‘You can order them to stand down.’

Her eyes moved from him to the soldiers and back again. She tried to speak but the words died in her throat.

‘Do you want me to act for you, Your Majesty?’

She nodded silently.

Phillip stepped forward, head held proud and his spine straight; not for nothing was he the son of a king.

‘On the orders of Queen Aurora, you are to stand down. Sheathe your swords. There will be no more fighting tonight.’

Again, they halted, murmurs breaking out. Then the ragged ranks were pushed aside and a man in dented, scorched armour marched himself towards them. Thick-set, sandy-haired and with a gash above one eye that still oozed with blood that trickled down the side of his face, he had the look of a well-tested, experienced soldier.

‘And who are you, laddie?’

Phillip lifted his chin in a way that reminded Diaval irresistibly of Maleficent and, in a whisper, told her so. She glared at him.

‘I am Prince Phillip of Ulstead. I am acting for Aurora, Queen of Perceforest. Who are you?’

The man regarded the boy thoughtfully: then his considering gaze moved to the slender blonde girl whom he recognised as Stefan’s lost daughter, to the woman they had been battling as a fearsome witch less than half-an-hour ago and who now stood with her hands resting protectively on the girl’s shoulders, to the black-haired man who had no look of a warrior about him but whose beady dark eyes were wary and sparked with a strange fire.

He remembered the dragon’s flame and shuddered slightly.

‘I’m Lennox, Captain of the King’s Guard.’ He looked again at Aurora, pushed sweat-drenched hair back from his forehead and made a decision. ‘I suppose that should be the Queen’s Guard now. Your Majesty.’

Weary soldiers lowered their swords gratefully, took their lead from their captain and bowed their heads to their new queen.

Aurora’s body sagged. She leaned into her godmother’s steady hands, reached out for Diaval and he caught hold of her fingers, raising them to his lips. Maleficent’s wings quivered, closing around them in warm sanctuary. She looked at them both, a smile ghosting her lips.

‘Can we go home now?’


	16. Bright Star

That Aurora would be queen was not, somehow, something that Maleficent had ever considered anymore, it would seem, than Diaval had. As far he was concerned, she was his - _their_ \- fledgling, and that was that.

But returning to the Moors was no longer so simple. There were so many questions, so many people telling Aurora things and wanting things from her, bodies rushing about, so many people _screaming_.

It was with monumental self-control that Maleficent held in the green fire that snapped and sparked at her fingers with the longing to blast the castle and all who inhabited it to oblivion, take Aurora and go.

Once, perhaps, she would have done it.

She caught a warning flash from black eyes and focused her attention on Aurora’s slender form. For her sake, she gritted her teeth and concentrated on keeping all of her darkness at bay.

It was, Maleficent thought, possibly a good thing that Aurora had been blessed as she had: despite the complete erosion of the foundations of her life, the descending and then breaking of a curse, the gain and loss of a father and the impossible demands being made of her now, all in the space of a day, she was still resilient, still trying to smile, despite the shadows in the depths of her eyes and the new knowledge of sadness that would not defeat her but would not leave her entirely unscathed.

For Aurora it was an hour - or more - of clamour and she longed for the moment when it would be over but each second brought a new person, a new demand. She was flanked by the fairy and the raven and she suddenly realised just how alien this human world was to them. It felt that way to her.

And in the midst of this, the three pixies arrived and Aurora’s astonishment at discovering that her aunts had been fair folk all along was nothing compared to their astonishment at hearing her call Maleficent godmother.

‘Well! That’s gratitude for you!’ Knotgrass watched the little group in disgust. ‘And after everything we’ve done for her!’

‘But she’s _awake_!’ Flittle, joyous, gazed at their former ward. ‘Who broke the curse?’

‘The prince, obviously.’

Flittle shook her head, her butterflies sent tumbling about her. ‘But his kiss didn’t work.

‘Well...’ Knotgrass’ eyes narrowed. ‘Just look at them! Anyone would think that it was _Maleficent_ who had brought her up...’

‘Who’s that with them?’ Thistlewit’s blonde curls trembled around her prettily as she studied the handsome face of the stranger with the black hair and watchful eyes. He saw her looking at him and looked slightly bewildered, twitching at his long coat. Thistlewit ducked her head coyly. And then let out a muffled shriek as Knotgrass pinched her arm.

‘If he’s with Maleficent, he’ll be more trouble than he’s worth,’ the pink fairy said severely. She looked back at Aurora. The girl did look remarkably happy, despite her obvious fatigue.

‘You know what they’re saying,’ Flittle put in quietly. ‘That it was King Stefan who stole Maleficent’s wings.’

Knotgrass pulled in a breath, discomforted, Thistlewit’s own wings stuttering on the air.

‘Yes, well... That’s as may be. But it’s still no excuse for cursing that poor girl!’ And yet the curse was broken, and it was Maleficent herself who held the girl so close, who looked as though she would tear down the whole castle to protect her. Knotgrass shook her head sharply. ‘Oh, come on, girls. Let’s go home.’

‘Home! Our own little home!’ Thistlewit was joyful in her exclamation - but deposited a final, lingering glance on Maleficent’s darkly handsome consort before flying off after her sister pixies.

On the other side of the courtyard, Aurora felt herself besieged. It was too much. She had lived all of her life in a tiny cottage in the woods, she was a _peasant_ girl, not a queen.

A lull came, at last, and she turned to her godmother, raking her face with eyes that ached with the need for rest and peace.

‘Please, can we go home now?’

Maleficent returned her gaze helplessly. She hated feeling helpless. She had sworn, long ago, that she would never feel that way again but now she did, and she had, all those long months when the curse could not be broken and again now-

But this was helpless on someone else’s behalf and somehow that felt even worse.

She shook her head. ‘I don’t know if it’s possible, Beastie. You-’ She tried for a smile. ‘You’re the queen now.’

Tears flooded the clear blue eyes. ‘I know. I mean- I know I _have_ to be. And I _will_ be, if I have to... But please, Godmother, _please_ , don’t make me stay here tonight. I promise I’ll come back tomorrow and I’ll do everything that I’m supposed to but please don’t make me stay. Please, can we go back to the Moors.’ Her voice cracked, thick in her throat and trying to keep the tears in hurt. ‘Just for tonight.’

Maleficent took her face in the cradle of her hand, thumbed away the tears that traced glittering paths down Aurora’s cheeks.

‘All right. Just for tonight.’

Aurora’s arms about her were so tight she could barely breath.

When Captain Lennox was informed - it was not presented as a request - that Aurora would be leaving the castle until the following day, his immediate reaction was refusal. He was Captain of the Guard, this girl was the heir, she would be wearing the crown within a matter of weeks. It was his responsibility to ensure her safety and he could not, in all conscience, sanction her disappearance to the Moors (of all places) with those... Whatever they were.

His jaw tightened, chin lifting stubbornly.

He looked again at the pair flanking the young queen and knew, without doubt, that they would fight their way out of the castle grounds. His own men had just fought one battle and they had little taste for another. The iron armour was heavy, every movement made so much harder against its crushing weight. Lennox could feel the fatigue in his own muscle and bone.

His eldest was about Aurora’s age. A sweet, unspoilt girl and if she were caught in the middle of this carnage he would also want to take her away from it as quickly as possible.

He sighed.

‘Very well. My men will escort you-’

‘That is not necessary,’ Maleficent stated, her voice flat and cold. ‘We simply require a way out of the castle. Preferably one without iron.’ Her lips curled, baring her fangs.

He led them through the passageways used only by the castle servants, Maleficent’s wings brushing the stone lining the narrow spaces. The final door opened onto a clearing used as a kitchen garden.

‘If the Queen is not returned tomorrow-’

‘I won’t be returned,’ Aurora said quickly. ‘I’ll come back.’ She took a step forward, a step away from her godmother’s protective embrace and kept her head held high. ‘Captain Lennox. If I really am a queen and I can give orders here... I know that your men must be exhausted and I hope that you all will find your rest. But I want all of the iron stripped from the castle as soon as possible.’

As slim and fair and proud as a lily, her voice gentle but with an unmistakable resolve - perhaps all future monarchs should be schooled in the woods, he thought. And then laughed at himself; he was growing soft.

‘Your Majesty.’ He bowed to her.

Aurora bestowed her sunniest smile and then pulled back slightly when she saw Philip, who had stayed by them all the while. It would not be possible, she knew, to invite him back to the Moors. Not _quite_ yet.

‘I hope you’ll be able to find a bed for the night,’ she said softly.

Philip smiled cheerfully. ‘Oh, I’ll be all right. If I can find my horse in the stables, I’ll bed down there - I’ve done it before.’

‘Oh... Good. That sounds ... cosy.’

‘Aurora.’ Maleficent held out her hand to the girl. And then turned an enquiring eye on Diaval. ‘Are you sure?’ A raven, a horse, a man, a dragon, he had already been so many things that day.

‘I’m ready, Mistress.’

Aurora gasped with delight as he disappeared in a cloud of smoke and was remade before their eyes in equine form. She ran her hands over his mane. ‘You _still_ have feathers in your hair!’

He snorted at her, daring her to pull them and she giggled, hoisted herself onto his broad back.

His hooves pawed the ground, impatient to go; and when Maleficent unfolded her wings and took to the air, he followed her course at a gallop.

Which were all perfectly normal things to have seen Philip told himself, staggering against the downdraft caused by Maleficent’s ascent.

It all seemed very quiet.

Captain Lennox cleared his throat, delivered a hearty clap to Philip’s back. ‘Come on, laddie,’ he said, gruff, ‘we’ll find you a cot in the barracks.’ He glanced at the young prince. ‘And maybe a wee dram or two.’

Philip nodded gratefully and followed the captain back into the castle.

* * *

They had almost reached the Moors when Maleficent made her sudden, inelegant descent. Her wings were still strong - the muscles that had been attached to them were no longer. The burst of glorious gold magic that had flooded her being when they had reattached had carried her far - much farther than should have been possible.

She had felt it when she had taken to the air again after that brief time on the ground: the tearing in her back and chest, the exhaustion in her body that pulled at her like stone.

Maleficent landed, hard, dragging air into her lungs and trying desperately to control the spasms that wracked her. She felt sick. Doubled over, she pressed her hands against her mouth, holding in the cries of pain that would not be silenced.

Hooves drummed behind her, a horse’s whinny that still held the husky croak of a raven’s cry.

‘Godmother!’

Aurora slid off Diaval’s back, approached her with caution.

Maleficent groped blindly for her staff; somewhere in the battle she had lost it and in the unexpected joy of her restored glory, she had forgotten it. Hubris, she thought, her face clammy, arrogance that after nearly seventeen years she could simply return to what she had once been. Her wandering hands found something warm and solid and held on.

‘Godmother.’ Aurora’s voice was barely above a whisper. She grasped Maleficent’s hands, tight, keeping her upright.

Ragged clouds tore across the sky and the face of the moon, the landscape alternating between illumination and inky darkness. Aurora saw the pallor of her godmother’s face and felt a stab of fear.

The fairy raised her head and managed to pull up something that resembled a smile. ‘I’m all right, Beastie. I just- I just don’t think I’ll be flying again tonight.’

Her admission was met by a loud, piercing neigh. Diaval tossed his head, one hoof striking the ground. Like Aurora, he approached her carefully, butted his great head against her with care and then snorted loudly, glancing over his shoulder at his own back and then at her again.

Maleficent extricated one hand from Aurora’s steady fingers and stroked his broad forehead, down to the beak-like muzzle. Still the same glow of kindness in his black eyes. He must be exhausted, she thought, his muscles aching almost as badly as her own.

‘You can’t carry us both,’ she said softly.

‘I can walk,’ Aurora said, prepared to do anything.

Diaval regarded them both sourly, nostrils flaring, and then reared up, uttering an ear-splitting whinny, before landing forcefully.

Maleficent sighed, too tired to argue the point. ‘All right. But don’t blame me when you can’t move in the morning.’

He rumbled deep in his chest.

They remounted, Aurora in front. Maleficent hesitated for a moment before wrapping her arms loosely around the girl’s slender form. Her wings draped over Diaval’s haunches, almost sweeping the ground.

They rode hard across the flat plain, then through the opening in the wall of thorns and over the rise and fall of the Moors. Sleeping fairies woke, gazed in astonishment, rumours and whispers sent through the undergrowth; the flower pixies had returned and somehow, miraculously, Maleficent had her wings once more.

Diaval continued his journey, up into the hills, following the winding path towards the cave where they had made their home, until it grew too narrow for his horse’s form.

Aurora and Maleficent slid from his back and when he was shifted once more to a man he felt his legs buckle, his body heavy and aching. He stood for a moment, back braced against the rocks and breathed hard, his chest wheezing. A gentle touch on his shoulder and he lowered his head, met Aurora’s eyes clouded with concern.

‘I told you,’ he said, one corner of his mouth quirking into a lopsided smile, ‘I’m an old raven now.’ Behind her he saw Maleficent, also leaning against the stone and saw her hand move, a flicker of gold and shook his head at her. ‘Don’t, Mistress. You need that for yourself.’

He pushed himself away from that nice, supportive piece of rock and weaved for a second before forcing himself upright. ‘Not far now.’

The path, lined by ferns and tiny star-like flowers, led them up to the outcropping beyond the cave. Aurora gazed about with interest, took in the curved tree trunks and mossy stumps that did duty as seats and the large flat stone that was used as a table. Ordinarily she would have been darting about, investigating, questioning, but the events of the day had caught up with her and her eyes and limbs were heavy with the need for sleep.

The cave which held their nest, lit by faintly glowing crystals and with its scent of cool pine and warm feather, took her interest more keenly and she examined the intricate structure of twisted branches and its liningof down and spider silk with delight.

Maleficent watched her and something of the ache in her body eased as she saw the joy in Aurora’s face. She pulled loose twigs and some of the lining from the nest, concentrated on it until thin trails of gold from her fingers worked it into a smaller neighbouring arrangement for Aurora.

The girl clambered into it gratefully - and for all her tiredness was ecstatic to find herself in a comfortable nest conjured by her beloved godmother. She watched with equal joy as Maleficent unwrapped her horns, her hair cascading about her shoulders, loved the pointed tips of her now visible ears.

Had it been any other night, Maleficent would have gone down to the thermal springs in the glade below their cave, stripped off the confining leather and bathed in the pools. She was too tired, her body too shocked by all that had happened. Using her magic, she changed her clothing to something soft, voluminous, performed the same service for Aurora who stared at the sudden change with huge, delighted eyes, running her fingers across the fine fabric.

Aurora tried to arrange herself in the nest which, despite its comfort, was still unfamiliar to her; she only really settled when Diaval helped her form a pillow for her head and then pulled the covers over her.

‘Just like when you were a hatchling,’ he said. ‘You’ll be after wanting a story next.’

She smiled up at him. ‘One of your raven stories. Oh, would you? You’ve never told me one.’

His face creased with affection; he brushed the bright hair away from her forehead. ‘Well now... There’s always Tassach the Lazy - that’s a funny one.’

‘Is that raven-funny,’ Maleficent enquired, ‘or _actually_ funny?’

Diaval bestowed on her a withering look that she ignored completely and continued to comb her hair with her fingers. He turned his attention back to Aurora.

‘But we should probably start with the story that’s the first one that any raven chick learns while still in the nest.’ The husky cadences of his voice were low and soothing.

Aurora curled onto her side, her cheek cushioned on her hand.

‘When An Déantóir Mór created all the creatures of the seas and the lands and the skies, he made them very carefully so that each one would have its place and its purpose. But he decided that each should have a special gift all of their very own and they could ask for what that gift should be.

Now, most started a great clamour from the beginning, all fighting to get their claim in first. But one of them held back, saying that he’d go last of all. And he was Fechín, the first raven in all of creation. Big, he was, and strong, with feathers as black as the night he’d been born into. But he knew there were many creatures much bigger and fiercer than he was and he knew that they would hunt birds. So, for the sake of himself and all of his kind that were to come, he decided to wait until all the others had asked for their gifts, so that he might ask for the thing that would best protect his future hatchlings.

The bear asked for great claws, the dragon for fire, the fox for a sharp nose and the cat for cunning. It took many days and nights for all the animals to receive their gifts, until there was none but Fechín left still to receive his.

He approached the mighty throne, but before he could speak, An Déantóir Mór said, “You already have your gift, Father of Ravens.”

Fechín was all perplexed, for he had not yet said a word. But An Déantóir Mór smiled, for he was fond of this handsome bird.

“By waiting until last, you have shown wisdom - and that is your gift. Your children shall be wise and clever and their enemies will have to work hard to catch them.”

And Fechín was pleased with this, and he spread his black wings and flew high above the forests and the streams. And he saw how many others had taken for themselves a mate. Or, rather, many mates. But being the wise raven that he was, Fechín knew better. He did not want many mates who would come and go with each season, but rather the one perfect mate that would be his constant companion.

For many days and nights he flew in search of her, but all he found were flighty, flirty creatures. So, in the end, he flew high above the trees and the mountains, higher than any bird had flown that he might have a better view of all that the earth had to offer. But once he was up there, he saw the beauty of the dark sky and against it a single silver star and her pure light was stronger and brighter than anything he had ever seen.

And so, in his wisdom, he wished for a mate as bright and beautiful as that star. And that she’d be as steady and constant as its light, so that she’d guide him all the long years of his life and he would swear himself to her and her alone.

The star heard his wish and it touched her heart, so she left the heavens and when her light fell to earth, it became a single egg. And from that egg hatched Réalta. She was wise and beautiful; her black feathers gleamed silver like moonlight and her eyes shone like the star that had birthed her.

And when he returned to the earth, the first that Fechín saw of her were her eyes and he recognised his beautiful star and he took her as his mate. And that’s why, to this day, ravens love things that shine, in honour of Réalta, the mother of us all.’

Aurora was asleep. Diaval gently brushed a lock of hair away from her face. No matter his form he was always and only a raven at heart and he loved shining things, like Aurora’s great eyes and her smile, or Maleficent’s-

Or Maleficent.

‘That’s lovely.’

Her voice was soft and for one hideous moment Diaval was frozen, believing he had spoken that final thought aloud. But if he _had_ and he was not yet a pile of burnt feather-

‘You told the story very well.’

His body sagged with relief and then speared with disappointment. It had been a sudden and perhaps ridiculous hope, but maybe now, with the proof of love sleeping in the nest beside them, Diaval could finally speak his words and Maleficent would hear them.

He looked at her.

Her eyes were heavy, sleepy, the expression in her face one of tender contentment that he had seen her wear only rarely. Dark hair spilling around her shoulders, her great wings folded softly, her pale skin gleaming... She was starlight in the dimness of their cave.

He was wordless.

‘I took you from all of that, didn’t I?’ she asked softly.

It was a moment before he truly realised that she was speaking to him and he grasped helplessly at his ragged thoughts.

‘What?’

‘Your raven life. All the things that should have been yours.’ Regret laced her words.

Still crouched by Aurora’s sleeping form, Diaval shook his head. ‘It was my choice. I wouldn’t have had it any other way.’

She badly wanted to touch him. To smooth down the ruffled feathers in his sleek dark hair, feel the lines of the raised markings on his face under her fingers. So many things that she should probably say.

She took a breath.

She shifted him.

The raven hopped to his customary perch at her shoulder and Maleficent ran her hand down his back; he leaned into her touch.

They slept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An Déantóir Mór is Irish for The Great Maker. Fechín means raven (and battle) and Réalta means star (unsurprisingly).


	17. Wings - Part Three

When Maleficent woke that morning after the battle, it took long moments before she made sense of what she was seeing and hearing.

There was soft regular breathing that was not her own and was definitelynot Diaval’s. And there was an abundance of feather. Primaries as long as her arm, shading through chestnut and a rich dark brown. The feathers moved slightly when she did and for a moment she frowned at them and then she remembered.

Maleficent sat up and smothered a cry of pain. Her body screamed as muscle and bone, already shunted into unnatural positions, realigned themselves once more. A flare of gold eased the worst of the pain but did not dispel it entirely. If there was a lesson in the fact that her gift of healing always worked more for others than it did for herself she was yet to learn what it was.

A familiar low gurgling croak sounded by her ear and she met Diaval’s sympathetic black eye, his feathers ruffling in his agitation. She scratched the back of his neck, calming him. He nibbled her fingers.

In the small, rough nest beside their own, Aurora stirred. Her head raised, blue eyes stared at them sightlessly, then she rolled over and sunk back into sleep.

Maleficent pushed herself up, feeling each muscle and tendon and bone in her body protest with the movement. Heavy dragging at her back, the weight leaden and so very wonderful. She spent some moments on all fours, steadying her breathing, before she managed to get to her feet, swaying unsteadily. Hands against the cave wall, she made her way to the entrance, felt the warmth of the early morning sunshine against her face, penetrating the deep dark wings at her back.

Her wings.

She flexed them experimentally, winced at the spear of agony that ripped through her chest but she could endure it. She could endure anything.

But her body still felt bruised and battered, still covered in the smell of battle, the human castle and the residual taint of iron. The springs with their soothing waters would do much to aid her recovery. Maleficent cast a glance at Aurora’s still sleeping form and took faltering steps onto the wide ledge outside the cave.

Slow progress. She gritted her teeth.

Wing beats on the air, circling her, emphatic caws and he clicked his beak at her. Maleficent tried to ignore him, but he flew repeatedly at her head until she flicked her hand and he dropped to the ground, his heavy landing sending him sprawling.

‘Ow.’ He picked himself up. ‘You could do with something to lean on.’

Her eyes flashed. ‘Oh. Really.’

He let the breath out slowly through his nose. It was an assumed irritation - his eyes were patient and concerned and kind.

‘Let me help you. Sure, it won’t be long until you’re yourself again - and then you can turn me into a mealy worm, if you like,’ he added, as though it were an incentive.

A flicker of amusement across her controlled features and then she nodded very slightly. Diaval put a careful arm around her waist and after a moment in which she still maintained a certain hauteur about the proceedings, she finally allowed her weight to settle against him.

He felt as strong and solid and steady as he had when his horse-self had carried her the night before. It was no different to that, really. At least, she told herself that it wasn’t.

She thought of Aurora, still sleeping in her makeshift nest - but if she woke before they returned, she would locate them at the springs as soon as she looked out from the ledge.

The waters were blissfully warm and Maleficent sank beneath them, feeling the aches lessen and the great feathers of her wings grow even heavier, saturated with the water that would help cleanse and restore them. She leaned back against a mossy slab, letting her head fall against it and her eyes drifted lazily closed.

Diaval, back in his feathers, was also enjoying a bath - although of a much splashier, exuberant nature and Maleficent watched him from under half-closed eyes. Water was sent into the air as he flapped, tossed his head, chucked to himself. And then he perched on a sunny rock close to her and set about preening his feathers with a ferocious intensity, his beak burrowing down his chest-feathers, under his wings, then through each wing and tail feather.

She had watched these displays before, sometimes with a sense of melancholy, often with amusement. Now, it was a reminder that her own wings were sorely in need of attention. She felt a thrum of pleasure at the thought and still a sense of disbelief. As though the next time she looked they would have been taken from her again.

Maleficent pulled herself up out of the pool, spread her wings and shook them, sending water droplets cascading over the surrounding vegetation -and Diaval. He shook himself in response and resumed preening his tail feathers.

But his eyes were watchful and he kept watch as she dressed again in her loose robe, settled herself under a spreading oak tree and started preening her wings.

It was, he thought, absolutely no fault of her own - obviously - but she was very clearly out of practice. And despite her long soaking in the springs, her feathers were still dull and dusty and in need of proper care. He hopped closer, clicking his beak, imagining how they would look after the attentions of someone who really knew what they were doing.

Maleficent had observed his approach, saw the fixity of his gaze.

‘It’s rude to stare,’ she told him.

‘ _Caw-aw-awk.’_ He tilted his head.

‘I suppose you think you know how to go about this better.’

_‘Awk!’_

‘Well...’ There were many feathers. And she was out of practice. ‘If it will stop you nagging.’

He launched himself, settling behind her and after a moment, or many long, long moments, during which he was apparently appraising the task at hand, she felt his beak burrowing into her feathers.

It felt strange, not just that there was another’s touch on her wings, but that she had wings at all to be touched. It felt almost pleasant.

Maleficent concentrated on the dark sweep of long primaries, re-remembering the feel of them under her hands, their velvet softness and their strength.

That was how Aurora found them some little time later. She skipped happily down the path towards them, her face bright, eyes glowing, showing no outward signs of discomfort after the previous day’s exertions. One of the many benefits of extreme youth, Maleficent thought wryly, her own body still faintly objecting whenever she moved a shade too fast.

Diaval, bits of down clinging to his own glossy feathers, took wing, circling about Aurora before landing on her shoulder, cawing gently down her ear and then flew back to Maleficent, resuming his preening.

‘Did you sleep well, Beastie?’

‘I did!’ Her blonde hair, now in shaggy tendrils, fluttered about her face. Aurora dropped to the grass at Maleficent’s feet. ‘I had the most wonderful dreams! We were all here living in the Moors, and Diaval was teaching the wallerbogs to dance-’

A caw that was clearly intended to be derisive snort rose from the raven between a beak-full of feather.

‘And there was something about black nuts...’

Diaval’s feathered head appeared over Maleficent’s shoulder, one black eye gleaming with interest.

‘It was a dream, you appalling scavenger,’ Maleficent told him.

Grumbling, he sank back down.

Aurora inspected the pool; she could feel the heat rising from its surface. ‘Is this where you bathe?’

‘Yes. It would probably do you some good.’

‘Yes...’ Aurora stared longingly at the waters, bit her lip. It was quiet, still early, but there were Moorfolk moving about and it was all completely in the open. ‘I, uh-’ It felt somehow silly, prudish, especially with Maleficent looking at her with clearly no real conception of modesty. Her grateful eyes saw a more secluded bend and some bushes. ‘I’ll just go...’ She pushed herself up, made her way to them.

‘ _Awk?_ ’

‘I don’t know,’ Maleficent said, watching Aurora’s retreating form thoughtfully. ‘She is human, after all. We have to make allowances, I suppose.’

Over the usual sounds of the Moors - insect wings, soughing leaves, creaking bark - she could hear light splashes, Aurora singing to herself, and Diaval’s irritable clucking. He had been maintaining a steady stream of commentary and, she was quite sure, complaint as he worked. After all these years she knew his tones even if she couldn’t translate his precise meaning. But the varying pitches of his voice and the evident intensity of his feelings piqued her interest and, without thinking, she flicked her fingers instinctively.

And his hands were plunged deep in the feathers of her wings, his fingers curling about them and her body jolted.

Her wings snapped, green energy crackling across her skin and her feathers and Diaval sat, frozen, waiting for the blast that would send him tumbling into his raven-form - if he was lucky.

Her stomach contracted and her first thought was to push away the threat, to stop any possibility that she could be hurt again.

Her second thought was that she was in the open of the Moors, she could still hear Aurora singing and this was Diaval.

Diaval.

She trusted him.

She had felt his heart beat with her own for over sixteen years.

She could feel his fear now. For the first time in all their years it seemed that his fear was _of her_ -

‘I’m sorry, Mistress.’ His voice was a croak, barely distinguishable from his raven’s caw.

‘Just get on with it.’ Her voice was brittle, a harshness to it.

He still did not move for some time and then, very slowly, as though she were a wild creature that he was afraid of spooking, he resumed his attentions.

‘You have some broken feathers,’ he said, voice still soft. ‘It might be better if I cut them down.’

She nodded curtly.

The splashing had stopped. Aurora’s song grew louder and then she was back with them, her wet hair clinging to her neck and her hands full of apples. ‘Look what I found!’ She smiled at them proudly. ‘I thought you might be hungry. I know I’m hungry - are you hungry?’

‘Starving,’ Diaval replied with feeling.

‘I would have thought that you’d have been foraging already this morning,’ Maleficent said, her words still clipped and controlled but there was a little less metal in her tone.

‘I did that,’ he agreed. ‘But that was earlier, and a raven can’t live on three worms and a beetle alone.’

Aurora giggled and placed one of the apples on a raised root beside him. Then she sat back on her haunches and gazed up, awe in her features, at Maleficent’s wings. ‘They’re so beautiful.’ Her smile widened. ‘You look so different with your hair down. You’re even more beautiful than usual - don’t you think, Diaval?’

He made a husky hum in the back of his throat. ‘Of course. But I’d hardly have been seen in the company of anyone less pretty than me.’

For the first time, Maleficent glanced over her shoulder at him. His head was bowed over the dark feathers in his hands. ‘Are you saying that if I had looked like a wallerbog, you would not have repaid me for having saved your life?’

‘Now, of course I would. I just probably would have found another way of doing it.’

He looked up at her then. His round black eyes were, as always, gentle, reassuring. He wasn’t asking for her trust, she realised; he wasn’t asking anything of her, but instead was offering himself to her all over again.

She turned away. ‘Lucky me, then.’

Aurora, shaking the water out of her hair with her fingers, was still studying the expanse of Maleficent’s wings with rapture. There was longing in her face; she was holding herself back.

Maleficent took a breath, and then another, and forced herself into a decision.

‘It’s all right,’ she said, and her voice sounded very strange, far away, to her own ears. ‘You can touch them.’

The girl’s face was suddenly serious, sober, her clear eyes darkening with the weight of her emotion. She knelt before her godmother like a supplicant, but it was Aurora herself who performed the benediction. One finger ran lightly across the edge of a feather. It quivered at her touch. Aurora stopped, studied the fairy’s still, taut features for a moment, and then stroked the soft inner-wing with her whole hand.

Maleficent let out a breath that shook through her chest. It was too much. She should never have started this. She wanted to get them away from her, both of them; she imagined their bodies sent spiralling on a wave of green fire. They didn’t deserve that, neither of them. They were the two people she loved and trusted most in the all the world.

The only people she loved, she realised. The only ones she trusted.

Diaval, watchful, unclenched as moments passed and the whisper of green that had shuddered across the dark feathers receded.

‘If you’re going to do that, you may as well give me a hand,’ he said, his tone light. He caught Aurora’s wrist, pulled her around to him. ‘You want all of the barbs lying flat. You want everything going in the same direction.’

Obedient, Aurora watched him carefully, then mirrored his movements, carefully running her fingers over and through each feather.

‘There’s a terrible amount of glass in here, Mistress. But that’s what you get for spinning your way through a window, so it is. Not that it’s a bad trick, mind. I’d quite fancy being able to pull that one off myself - although, it would have to be a small window and pretty thin glass.’ He looked at Aurora. ‘What do you think?’

She smiled up at him, her eyes creasing with amusement, a gurgle of laughter in her throat. ‘I think you’d be spectacular.’

Even with no feathers of his own, he still managed to puff up his chest. ‘Ah now, that I would. Although,’ his head tilted, thoughtful, ‘one of my brothers, Baoth, once flew head-first into a window. Turned out he’d seen his own reflection in a mirror, thought it was a pretty lady-raven and knocked himself out, so he did.’

Blue eyes widened. ‘Was he alright?’

‘Don’t think he even felt it, the eejit. Skull as thick as oak. Always was a feather shy of a wing, so he was. We were hoping it might have knocked some sense into him, but it made no difference. Mind you...’ Diaval was thoughtful, nodding slightly to himself. ‘Now I come to think of it, he always flew lopsided after that.’ His hands mimed uneven flapping. ‘Kept going around in circles.’

Aurora laughed. ‘Oh, that isn’t true.’

His humorous black eyes managed to approximate indignation. ‘Is it a liar you’re calling me?’

She gasped. ‘I would never!’

He nodded. ‘And I should think not.’

A smile curved her lips. ‘Maybe just a little bit exaggerating, though?’

‘Well... Maybe just a little. A _very_ little!’

The inconsequential chatter continued. Diaval’s husky rasp interspersed with Aurora’s bright chirrups. Maleficent allowed the sounds to wash over her. Something tickled her cheek and she batted it away irritably, stared, perplexed, at the resulting dampness on her fingers. Maleficent did not cry.

‘Godmother?’

Aurora, awash with concern, stared up at her.

Maleficent smiled shakily. ‘It’s alright, Beastie.’ More tears slid down her cheeks. ‘I’m just happy.’


	18. Ruin

Aurora, true to her word, started out for the castle once they had finished their breakfast of fruit, nuts, bread and honey. She dawdled a little, trying to put off the inevitable moment when she would have to leave this sanctuary, but she had made a promise - even if she had, at this moment, little true realisation of the enormity of what lay before them.

Maleficent and Diaval walked with her as far as the standing stones. There was a tautness in the fairy’s face, her skin seeming stretched over her sharp bones. Aurora turned, managed a smile that did not quite hide the fear.

Maleficent had no desire to go back to the realm of men, but she would endure it if it would bring Aurora peace and comfort - but she was also aware that her presence at the castle would, in the end, place an even greater burden on the girl’s slim shoulders. She glanced at Diaval, saw the expression in his deep eyes and knew that something of an answer had presented itself.

He straightened, chin high and she flicked her hand.

The raven tumbled about Aurora’s head, landed on her shoulder. Her face brightened. ‘Is he coming with me?’

‘Someone needs to watch over you. And there’s no-one with more experience of that than Diaval.’

That impossible bird really could puff himself up to ridiculous proportions, Maleficent thought, as his feathers fluffed with pride.

They made their way across the plain. When Aurora looked back, she saw that winged figure standing, as proud and unmoving as the great stones that flanked her. Maleficent herself still stood, long after the two figures had disappeared, her eyes burning.

* * *

Captain Lennox had not entirely believed that Aurora would return to the castle and had not been relishing the idea of marching a company of men to the border between Perceforest and the Moors in order to retrieve her.

So it was a combination of relief and disbelief that he felt as the slender figure walked towards the castle keep with a lone raven, inexplicably, wheeling about her.

‘Your Majesty.’ He bowed his head when he met her in the courtyard.

Aurora blenched, struggled to keep the smile on her lips, and then offered him a curtsy in return. ‘Good day, Captain Lennox. I hope that you and your men are well?’

He stared at her. ‘Aye, that we are,’ he replied, without wholly knowing what he was saying.

Queens did not curtsy to their guards. They did not walk across lands that were the strongholds of witches and demons, certainly not without escorts. And she showed no fear. She looked well-rested and well taken care of, and though she was clearly overwhelmed by her current surroundings and circumstances, she was still evidently good natured and obliging. Eager to please and to be pleased by all that she saw.

Lennox was a family man, a father of daughters, and he felt a sudden protective rush towards this girl, the need to keep her from harm. He had been a young guard on the day of her christening and he remembered well the stifling heat, the sweat running down his back under the heavy layers of ceremonial armour and the longing for all of the niceties and formalities of a royal christening to be done with so that he could strip off his armour and have a well-earned drink with his mates. He remembered the curse spoken by a strange woman, a horned crown twisting above her head, terrifying in her anger and power and beauty.

The same woman who only the night before had held the young queen to her as though she were her own child, her gold eyes defying any and everyone who would attempt to separate them.

There had been a raven there on that christening day, too, he remembered; and Lennox cast a suspicious look at the black-winged bird that followed them through the corridors.

And then he dismissed that thought. Ravens did not live that long.

In the full glare of daylight, the castle looked little brighter than it had with the shades of evening drawing in and Aurora shuddered. There was still much activity, many bodies rushing about and still as many people staring at her only this time they seemed to stare even more and they kept bowing to her, as though she were-

As though she were the queen.

She felt heaviness drag in the pit of her stomach and it was only the reassuring rush of Diaval’s wings and the remembrance of her own promise that kept her within those walls.

The heavy iron screens were in the process of being removed from the windows and much-needed light was flooding into the dusty corridors and neglected rooms. They reached the main hall and in the weak daylight that streamed across its length, Aurora gasped at the evidence of battle and ruination. The space was marked by fallen pillars, scorched by fire and the great window was shattered, its stained glass carpeting the floor.

Dented helmets and scraps of armour lay about; the huge iron chandelier had smashed the stone floor where it had fallen. The heavy iron net a twisted heap. There were dark stains that Aurora had a horrible suspicion were blood. Diaval, who had perched on her shoulder, took wing again, circling the space and then dropped, pecking at something amidst the debris.

‘This way, Your Majesty.’ Lennox indicated the way down the passage, waited patiently.

Aurora nodded. ‘Yes. Diaval.’ He continued to peck, trying to drag at something. ‘Diaval, come on!’

He flapped his wings, cawing in the way she had come to realise meant that he had something to say. She sighed, knowing he would not give up on whatever it was.

Stone and glass crunched under her feet; Aurora gave up trying to pick her way across with any delicacy and simply walked towards him, the hem of her gown acquiring a rim of dirt and dust.

‘Now, what is it? Oh! I see...’ Aurora stooped, picked up the heavy shaft, used the edge of her cloak to wipe away the dust that had dulled the green stone held in the staff’s head.

Diaval chucked approvingly. He hopped onto his habitual perch and Aurora marvelled how he was able to keep his footing even as she walked with the staff, its end tapping against the floor rhythmically.

When they rejoined Captain Lennox, Aurora was delighted to find that Phillip was also there and she smiled at him shyly.

‘I was hoping to meet you at the castle gate,’ he said, sheepishly, ‘but I got lost. I seem to keep ending up in the laundry.

Aurora giggled slightly. ‘I don’t know how anybody finds their way around a place like this. It’s huge!’

The tips of Phillip’s ears were a delicate shade of pink. A hoarse grumble attracted his attention; Phillip observed the bird perched on the head of the staff with a delight tempered by uncertainty. ‘You have a pet raven!’ And then snatched back his hand as a strong beak snapped at his fingers and beady eyes bored into him.

Aurora laughed lightly, stroking the black feathers in an unconscious imitation of her godmother. ‘He isn’t a pet; he’s Diaval.’

‘Diava..?’ As in the man. And the dragon. And the horse. And now a raven. And a dragon. _Oh God..._

He cawed, flapping his wings, and Aurora beamed, happily tripping down the hallway with Captain Lennox at her side. After a pause, during which he took many breaths, Phillip followed them and decided that, on balance, there were many far, far worse things to do than follow Aurora for the rest of his days.

Probably.

* * *

The chamber Aurora was led to was a large, comfortable room with high windows and views over the gardens. Filled with books, ledgers, scrolls and papers, it was one of the few rooms that had been spared the addition of iron screens, its occupant having refused to have them erected.

‘Sir Angus McLeish, Your Majesty.’

The Chancellor of Perceforest was a slight, spare man with thinning hair, sharp features and a pair of intense grey eyes. Those eyes were currently shadowed by fatigue. He observed the odd little cavalcade proceeding into his office: the blonde-haired girl whose twisted black staff was an incongruity against her simple, pale-blue costume; and her escorts of a princeling who looked as though he were not yet shaving, and, for no reason that he could see, a raven.

The creature found itself a perch on a convenient pair of mounted antlers and, ostensibly, went asleep.

‘Your Majesty.’ He bowed and then his lips curled slightly with amusement as Aurora bobbed a curtsy in reply. But he was weary and wary. He studied the girl, their new queen, and felt a rise of hysteria. Her young face was solemn, which made her look all the younger. She was little more than a child, a miss out of the schoolroom. She stood the staff carefully against the table and then sat down, raising expectant blue eyes to him. He ran a hand over his hair, blinked twice, and took a seat opposite Aurora.

‘There is no easy way to say this, Your Majesty, and I hope that you will forgive any bluntness on my part, but I see nothing to be gained in prevarication.’ He was by nature a quietly-spoken man, his voice mellow and pleasant. His blunt words still sounded civil. ‘The treasury is all but empty. Almost all of the kingdom’s resources had been diverted into the war effort. We have a lot of iron, and not much else. I’m sorry, but there it is.’

Aurora nodded, smiling politely. And sat, waiting for him to continue.

There was a long silence.

She cleared her throat. ‘You... You’re talking about money?’

Sir Angus nodded. ‘I am that.’

‘I see.’ She nodded again, studied her clasped hands resting on the tabletop. When she looked up again her expression was apologetic. ‘I don’t really know anything about money. I don’t know that my aunts ever had any. But I realise that it must be important for... for an entire kingdom.’ Her voice failed slightly at the end.

The chancellor pinched the bridge of his nose, closed his eyes against the monumental headache that was building behind them. He tried to smile kindly at the child. ‘You are the heir to the throne, and your throne is all but bankrupt.’

To Aurora, it made no sense. She had grown up fed and clothed and loved. It was all that she had ever needed. Even with its sense of decay, the castle was so grand, filled with so many things.

On his perch, Diaval fluffed up his feathers, shook himself, and glided down to land on the table. Startled, Sir Angus made to shoo him away and, just like Phillip, retreated when a beak snapped at his fingers. Diaval nudged the head of the staff, pecking at the stone held there. He looked at Aurora.

‘I don’t understand.’

He cawed, flapped, pecked again at the stone, then flew up to her shoulder, pecked at the pretty brooch on her dress with its pattern of twisted twig and feather, then hopped back down to repeat his assault on the staff.

‘Stone. My brooch.’

He crowed in exasperation.

‘Jewellery?’

‘ _Awk_!’

‘Oh, jewels!’

His agitation came to an end, wings drooping with relief.

‘Crown Jewels?’

He nibbled her fingers.

‘You are clever.’ She stroked his sleek chest. ‘But I suppose you would think about shiny things.’

Aurora looked up at Sir Angus who had watched this performance with growing incredulity. ‘Are there Crown Jewels?’

Sir Angus sighed, cynicism in his gaze. They had arrived at that point even earlier than he had imagined. ‘There are some. Naturally, you’ll be wanting them. I’ll see that they are made available to you-’

‘No!’ Aurora’s face flushed prettily. ‘I didn’t mean it for that. I meant- Well, they must be valuable. Are they?’

He pressed his lips together. ‘They are...’

‘Well, could they not be sold? Or traded?’ Aware of the somewhat blank looks aimed at her, Aurora’s face coloured. ‘My Aunt Flittle used to trade the honey that she made for bread and-and ... other things ...that we needed.’

The silence lasted some considerable time. Sir Angus leaned back in his chair, his grey eyes keen and bright and disbelieving. He looked at Lennox who had stationed himself in one corner of the room and who had been watching the proceedings with ill-disguised interest. The soldier met his eye and seemed to shrug slightly. The boy-prince was staring at her, clearly smitten. The raven had apparently gone back to sleep (if it had been asleep to begin with), one beady black eye set unblinkingly in Sir Angus’ direction. He returned his own steely gaze to Aurora and she returned it candidly, apparently unaware that there was anything strange in what she had suggested.

‘You wish to sell the Crown Jewels?’

‘Yes.’

Another pause. ‘As a rule, that’s not what monarchs do with them.’

‘Oh?’ Aurora rearranged herself slightly in her chair. ‘What do they do with them?’

He smiled then and his voice was very gentle. ‘They wear them.’

‘Oh... Well, I have no need for them.’ Her golden head tilted. ‘If there are Crown Jewels, don’t they belong to the kingdom, rather than to me?’

Sir Angus tilted his head back. ‘Yes... Yes, they do.’

‘Then wouldn’t it be better if they were used to benefit the entire kingdom and not just me?’

‘That isn’t the usual way of things. When the treasury is empty, money is usually raised through taxes.’

‘Robbing the poor to feed the rich,’ Phillip murmured. His cheeks reddened when he realised that the others were looking at him, but his embarrassment was forgotten when Aurora glowed at him.

‘And the poor shouldn’t have to rob the rich just to be fed,’ she said. Then she turned back to Sir Angus. He was regarding her thoughtfully, one long finger tapping against his chin. ‘I know it probably won’t be enough to fix everything, but would it help.’

‘Yes. Oh yes, it would help. In the short term.’

Her smile was one of relief and it lit up that quiet, slightly dusty room. ‘Good.’

Sir Angus let out a long breath, sat back in his chair. And then cleared his throat, sat forward again.

‘There is one other matter, Your Majesty.’

‘Yes?’

His elegant fingers laced together. He blew out a breath. ‘King Stefan’s body has been removed to the chapel.’ Her radiant smile faded as quickly as it had appeared. Sir Angus tried to inject as much sympathy into his tone as he could. ‘Under the circumstances... Well, we weren’t sure if it would be appropriate to have him lying in state.’

Aurora’s brow creased, uncomprehending. Phillip leaned towards her and said softly, ‘It’s an honour done to important figures. The bodies are displayed so that people can pay their respects.’

‘Oh...’ She tried to suppress the shudder that ran through her. She did not really want to think about Stefan. She didn’t want to think about him at all.

‘Ordinarily it would be a decision made by the council, but, well... There’s not many of them left and those who are have no stomach for it.’

‘I see.’ Aurora’s voice was very quiet. She nodded. Diaval hopped up onto her shoulder, rubbed his beak against her cheek.

Curious eyes rested on Sir Angus. ‘Would there be many people who would- who would want to come and see him?’

Only to make sure that the bastard was really dead, Sir Angus thought grimly - but that was hardly the thing that he could say to the man’s daughter. He picked his words with care.

‘King Stefan was not the most beloved of monarchs, Your Majesty. I think that the news of his passing is more likely to be met with relief than sorrow.’

Aurora nodded. She did not seem surprised by the information. Her face was somber and she bit her lip, her fingers clasping and unclasping. ‘He should be given a proper burial,’ she said at last. ‘That’s the right thing to do. But no more than that. Not ly...’ She looked at Phillip for help.

‘Lying in state.’

‘Yes. That. I mean, not that. You- we shouldn’t do that.’

Sir Angus nodded once. ‘Probably the best choice,’ he said drily.

Silence descended once again, so that when Phillip cleared his throat it sounded unnaturally loud. His face reddened as though he had been sunburnt. ‘I, uh... That is, my father always says that no meeting should go beyond forty minutes. Not without taking refreshment, at least.’

The chancellor’s grey eyes softened fractionally. ‘I have not had many dealings with King John, but he always struck me as being an uncommonly sensible man. It’s good to know I was correct in that assessment.’ Grasping the arms of his chair, he pushed himself up decisively. ‘Time to get out of this room.’

Phillip had offered Aurora his arm to escort her down the corridor that Sir Angus had indicated. Diaval flapped lazily alongside them. Some little distance behind, Captain Lennox walked with Sir Angus and watched he two young people indulgently.

‘What do you think of her?’

Grey eyes moved to Lennox, to Aurora, and then back again. ‘Honestly? She seems too good be true. I can’t decide if she’s really that disingenuous, terrifyingly cunning or just plain mad.’

Lennox pushed his lips out, considering this. ‘I don’t think she’s cunning,’ he said, slowly. ‘And if she is mad it’s a nicer sort of insanity than Stefan.’

Sir Angus let out a breath of laughter. ‘True.’ He smiled slightly, studying the slender figure in her plain blue cloak, still clutching her black staff. ‘And I also loved Robin Hood when I was a bairn.’ So much about thiswas wrong, he thought. None of these things should be placed on the fragile shoulders of so young a girl. ‘Poor child. If she really had any sense she’d go back to that cottage in the woods and stay there.’

Lennox nodded, thoughtful. The young queen had a resilience that was unexpected. Something strong and steely beneath those blonde curls and clear blue eyes. ‘The wee prince seems pretty struck.’

‘Maybe that’s no bad thing.’

A faint smile curled the soldier’s mouth. ‘Matchmaking now, Angus?’

The other man snorted, spared him a pitying glance. ‘When have you ever known me to have an interest in romance?’

Lennox tilted his head, studied the sharp profile knowingly. ‘Mm. How is Lady Glenross?’

His reward was a withering glare.

‘We’re just good friends.’

‘Oh, aye...’

Sir Angus smiled, despite himself, and moved the conversation on. ‘What’s the business with the raven? Seemed like the creature understood every word we said.’ He watched the black shape with suspicion.

Lennox breathed heavily down his nose. ‘Well, if I’m right, and I’m fairly sure I am... You know about the dragon last night..?’

* * *

Aurora had felt some of the tension lessen when they had left the stone-walled confines of the castle and were able to walk about the castle gardens. They were rather neglected and overgrown but something in their wild abundance reminded her of the Moors and she felt a little less as though she were suffocating. After what Aurora truly hoped was the last such meeting of the day, the gardens provided once more a much-needed refuge.

Phillip had stayed beside her, and she was truly grateful for a friendly face and someone who appeared to be unequivocally on her side.

‘I wish I understood all of this better,’ she said, wistful.

‘You understand it better than I do!’ Phillip’s eyes were wide. He looked about the castle with its broken turrets and general sense of neglect. His father, always a fair man, had been cautious in describing Perceforest to his son, but the reality was far worse than he had imagined.

Aurora turned to him. ‘But I don’t! I don’t understand about any of it!’ She sighed. ‘I wish I knew the things that you do, like about lying in state and the treasury and things like that.’

‘Yes, well...’ Phillip studied the toes of his boots for a few moments. They badly needed polishing. ‘I’ve always known that I am to be king one day, I’ve been trained for it my whole life. You’ve only had since... Since?’

‘Yesterday,’ she replied softly. It felt like a lifetime ago.

‘Yesterday,’ he repeated. It sounded ridiculous. ‘I think you’re incredible.’

She turned her head, looked at him and his cheeks flamed scarlet. ‘I mean, incredible for how well you’re coping with all of this.’

Aurora lowered her eyes, smiled slightly. There was a peculiar sensation, a sort of swooping feeling in her stomach. She let out a shaky breath. ‘I wonder where Diaval’s got to.’

* * *

The shell of what had once been King Stefan of Perceforest lay in the castle chapel and there were few, if any, who truly mourned his passing.

His broken limbs had been arranged into the accepted pose of peaceful slumber, but his hair was matted with blood and his face still wore an expression of enraged shock. His eyes had not yet been closed. That fixed stare of death was unsettling to a human.

To a raven it was a delicious invitation. Diaval tilted his head, all of his scavenger’s instincts to the fore. He stared at the glassy eyes slowly drying with their exposure to the air and remembered the impulse of so long ago when he had first seen this man on the day of his coronation.

And it had been a long time since breakfast.

* * *

‘Are... Are you returning home soon?’ Aurora didn’t quite look at him.

Phillip worried at a button on his doublet, threads coming loose. ‘I am not expected back at Ulstead for some days. I had thought- That is, I would be honoured to be of service. My father would be happy to know that Ulstead is aiding Perceforest in its recovery.’

He felt pleased with that speech. It was ... diplomatic. It did not make him sound too eager. He hoped.

‘He sounds like a good man,’ Aurora said.

Phillip’s face softened, his affection undisguised in his young face. ‘He is. If I am even half the king that he is, that will be an achievement.’

‘I’m sure you will be.’

They looked at one another. Faint rose stained Aurora’s cheeks. She looked away. ‘And I’m sure that there are rooms here in the castle that you could use.’

They both glanced at the dark spires rising about them.

‘Captain Lennox found me a cot in the barracks. I’m quite happy there. And they’re a nice bunch - even if they are terrified of dragons.’

Aurora laughed, ‘And you’re not?’

‘Of course not,’ he said loftily. ‘Dragons are just very misunderstood creatures.’

‘Ah.’ She nodded, glanced at him sideways from beneath lowered lashes. ‘So that’s why you were creeping up on one with a drawn sword?’

They both laughed.

When Diaval swooped towards them and landed on Aurora’s shoulder, Phillip inclined his head.

‘Hello, Diaval.’

The raven looked at him, appraising, first out of one shining eye and then the other. And then spread his wings slightly and bowed. Aurora stroked the back of his neck.

‘What have you been doing?’

He ruffled his feathers and adopted an expression of innocence.

‘Raven things, hm?’

He gave the bird equivalent of a nonchalant shrug and studied a vague point in the middle distance.

‘I see. Best if I don’t ask.’

Diaval chucked faintly.

She smiled. And then looked at the sun making its slow descent to the horizon and turned the full force of her attention back to Phillip. ‘Would you mind paying my respects to Sir Angus and telling him that I’ll be happy to resume our talks tomorrow?’

‘No, I, uh- Of course not!’

If possible, her smile became even more dazzling.

He watched her turn away and then suddenly leapt after her. ‘No, wait! I mean- I- Someone! Someone should escort you.’

Aurora shook her head. ‘I’ll be perfectly alright. I’ve walked the forest and the plains my whole life. Besides, I already have an escort.’ She wriggled one shoulder gently, felt Diaval’s claws grip harder and once again turned towards the Moors and home.

She had taken only a few steps when Diaval took to the air and flapped in her face.

‘I know I said it was just for one night.’

‘ _Awk!’_

Aurora kept walking. ‘I wasn’t lying, but I can’t stay here. It isn’t my home.’

He wheeled about her head, wings ruffling her hair. ‘Stop it. I’ll spend my days at the castle, but I’m not sleeping there. Besides, this has to be returned to Godmother.’ She held up the staff in triumph. Diaval settled on the head, tilted his head thoughtfully. ‘You can’t carry it as a raven, it’s too heavy.’

_‘Caw.’_

She smiled. ‘Well then.’

They continued the journey companionably.

‘Wouldn’t it be wonderful if there was a palace in the Moors,’ Aurora said dreamily as they approached the standing stones. ‘It would be so much nicer than that horrible castle. We could all be so happy.’

It was, Diaval thought, certainly something to consider.


	19. Diablo, Demon of the Moors (at least, that’s what he calls himself)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains references to non-consensual sex. There is nothing explicit, but it is the main focus of the chapter.

He pushed the dark hair out of his eyes, fastened the laces on his trousers and set about brushing bits of straw off his clothes.

‘That was very nice.’

At first glance, he was good-looking, despite the scars on his face. Or, he would have been good-looking; but there was an expression of slyness, of a kind of low cunning, that gave his features an unattractive quality.

Absorbed in flicking any traces of dust from his shirt, he didn’t spare a glance for the girl still lying in the crushed hay. Slowly, she pushed herself up, rigid with shock, her eyes wide and fearful. She drew her knees up to her chest, wrapped her arms around them and watched him, flinching at his every movement.

He pulled on the long black coat. ‘Very nice,’ he repeated, smoothing down his hair. ‘Take care of yourself, darlin’. I’ll be sure to call in again the next time I’m down this way.’ He walked out of the barn, heavy boots sending up dust motes that danced in the slanting rays of light.

The girl, holding her torn bodice against her breasts, wept silently.

It was nearing dusk as he made his way along the road that would take him into the town. A pleasant, warm evening, the air still and heavy and filled with promise. He had not intended to remain in Perceforest - it had merely been a place that he would pass through on the way to the more prosperous Ulstead. And when the first person, shaking with fear, had called him Diablo he had thought nothing of it.

When it happened for the third time, he had become curious. When he realised that they had mistaken him for a demon in the service of a local witch, he had laughed so hard that he couldn’t breathe. And he blessed the stupidity and superstition of peasants, and set about cultivating the ferocious reputation of the (he was fairly certain) wholly fictitious Diablo.

He caressed the heavy purse in his pocket lovingly. Yes, farmers were willing to hand over their coin in exchange for their crops not being ruined and he sneered at their ignorance - what would a demon need with silver and bronze? And as for their daughters... The tarts couldn’t wait to spread their legs for the demon Diablo; and the ones who could wait- Well, all they needed was a little persuasion and they soon submitted.

Pleased with himself and his cleverness, he stopped by a low wall, reached up a negligent hand to pull down a handful of ripe cherries, bursting the taut skins between his teeth and wiped the juice that dribbled down his chin with the back of his hand.

Something rustled the undergrowth, screened by the branches of the trees and he jumped up, heart beating faster, his throat tightening, hand going to the dagger in his belt.

‘Well, well.’ It was a low voice, musical, its feminine softness unmistakeable. ‘Who have we here?’

He righted himself, located the direction the words had come from and then performed an elaborate bow. ‘Diablo, at your service.’

A pause.

‘Diablo? How thrilling.’

He smiled. This was not the high-pitched chirrup of a girl. This was a woman’s voice, a rich knowing voice. Although he had plenty of use for them, he was tiring of inexperienced girls. A real woman’s body would offer a welcome distraction.

He arranged his face into a smile. ‘You’ve heard of me?’

‘I have heard the name.’

In the fading light, he struggled to peer into the shadows that held her but could see nothing. ‘And who are you?’

A soft laugh answered him. ‘No-one you know.’

He lowered his voice, offered his most caressing tones. ‘Then step out, my fine lady, that we may know one another better.’

There was a smile in her voice. ‘As you wish.’

A rustle of leaves and she emerged slowly. His gaze took her in, lingering, lasciviously, from the slim bare feet visible beneath the hem of her gown, up the curves that were enhanced rather than hidden by the fine silk she wore, to her beautiful face with her gold-green eyes and her-

Her horns.

And her wings.

Her red lips curved in an unpleasant smile that displayed very white, very sharp teeth. ‘Do you know me now?’

He fell back a step, more than a step, felt terror, cold and slimy, crawl through the pit of his stomach.

‘The witch...’

Her fangs bared at that.

‘I’m no witch.’ Her eyes sparked green.‘I’m something far worse.’

He swallowed, hard, pushing down the bile that had risen. ‘I’ve done you no harm.’

She considered this, her expression thoughtful. Green energy washed across her wings, snapped at the ends of her long fingers. ‘I think that you have profited greatly from tales that you have spread of me - and mine.’

There was a strange heaviness in those last two words.

He felt another roil in his stomach. He liked money, loved it. But he loved his own skin even more. ‘You can have the money!’ His voice, high-pitched, his accent coarsened under the veneer of gentility he had adopted. ‘Take it!’ He threw the purse at her. It landed at her feet.

She tilted her head. ‘And what of everything else you have taken?’

He stared at her. ‘Nothing. There’s nothing! I swear! Please- Please don’t kill me. I’ll do anything you say.’

‘I think,’ she said quietly, ‘that you might benefit from a little time spent in a more ... appropriate form.’ He fingers moved quickly. ‘Into a mealy worm.’

The cry of fear and outrage was lost in black smoke that soon cleared. Maleficent studied the worm, blunt head weaving blindly, and then retrieved the leather purse, taking its unfamiliar weight in her hand thoughtfully.

A hoarse cawing from above, familiar black wings circling. The raven hovered on a current for a moment and then dropped. Maleficent stiffened.

‘Diaval. Diaval!’

A column of black smoke erupted, feathers on the air and a husky shriek that translated into a fit of coughing. Diaval thumped himself on his chest.

‘You could at least wait until I’d finished a snack!’ He glared at her, accusing. ‘Mind you’ -he pressed his fingers into his midsection- ‘I’m not sure it was worth it. That was a terrible stringy worm. I think there was something wrong with it.’

He became aware that Maleficent was watching him with a curiously blank gaze. He frowned. ‘Are you alright?’

A pause.

‘I’m fine.’

His eyes wandered to the purse in her hand. ‘What’s that?’

Her chin lifted. ‘Something that needs to be returned.’

The farmer, preoccupied with the futile effort of trying to comfort his child, had not heard the voices and footsteps in the yard, only aware of newcomers when a shadow darkened the doorway. For a moment he stared, disbelieving, at the horned figure silhouetted against the dim light beyond. Then he leapt up with a bellow of rage, grabbed a pitchfork and jabbed it her face.

Maleficent waved an impatient hand. The pitchfork clattered to the ground. The farmer nursed his hand as though he had been burnt. His eyes kindling with a hatred that he could feel bubbling under his skin.

‘Get out. How dare you come here and bring that - that _thing_ with you. Haven’t you done enough damage?’

Diaval, already uncertain as to the point of this excursion and why Maleficent would, willingly, choose to enter a human’s home, was even more perplexed to find himself the object of this stranger’s ire.

‘I haven’t done anything!’ He turned appealing eyes on Maleficent. ‘Mistresss...’

She held up a silencing hand to him, took a step towards the girl who had curled, miserably, further into the hay, her eyes tightly shut.

‘Girl. What is your name?’

‘Leave her be!’ The farmer started forward, stopped at the flare across the fairy’s face, the ruffle of those huge wings, and the resultant paralysing fear - and despised himself for his cowardice.

Diaval watched the unfolding scene with mingled bewilderment and increasing trepidation. The girl had obviously been hurt but in a way that he couldn’t understand. She only looked Aurora’s age, if that, little more than a fledgling. Why would anyone want to hurt her?

‘What is your name?’ Maleficent’s voice was softer, gentler this time.

‘Rhona.’ It came out barely above a whisper.

‘Rhona. Look at this man, and tell us if this is who hurt you.’

Denial sprung to Diaval’s lips. With an effort he remained silent.

His face reddened, his own eyes stinging with tears of anger and helplessness, Rhona’s father snarled at them both. ‘Of course it was him! Everyone knows what he is, the things he’s done! No girl’s safe setting foot outside her home- Not safe in her own home!’

‘I haven’t done anything to her, not to anyone!’ Diaval felt a rising desperation. ‘I’m not Diablo!’

‘It isn’t him.’

Her voice was small but it seemed unnaturally loud in the barn, with its heavy air and sweet, animalic scent of hay. At the sound of his voice she had opened her eyes and now stared at Diaval, her gaze puzzled but certain.

Her father looked at her, his chest heaving. ‘Of- of course it was him. Don’t let them scare you into saying it wasn’t. I won’t-’ He choked on the words, tears finally spilling. ‘I won’t let them hurt you again.’

‘It wasn’t him,’ she repeated. ‘It doesn’t look like him; it doesn’t sound like him. I should know!’ Her face quivered.

The ensuing silence was heavy, profound.

Maleficent kept her spine straight and her chin high; but there was still something gentle in her tone. ‘He won’t come back. He won’t hurt you, or anyone else, ever again. I can promise you that, Rhona.’ She extracted the purse and tossed it to the farmer. He caught it instinctively,gazed at it uncomprehending. ‘This was taken from men like you. I trust that you will see it is returned?’

He stared at her.

Maleficent stooped until her eyes met Rhona’s and she took the girl’s chin in her hand. ‘I cannot restore what has been taken from you and I am truly sorry for that. But don’t let him take any more of you than he already has.’

A trace of gold sank into the tear-stained cheek. It could not heal her. Maleficent wasn’t certain that it would even soothe her, but it was all that she could do.

She straightened, turned, threw a glance at Diaval and his stricken expression. He finally understood, she thought; and somehow she wished that he didn’t. ‘Come.’

Maleficent left in a swirl of dark silk, her long wings catching at the pieces of hay strewn across the floor. Diaval caught her up, another realisation that he hoped wasn’t true flaring in his mind.

‘Mistress... Mistress, that worm...’

‘I don’t want to hear anything more about it.’

He groaned. ‘Oh my feathers. I think I can still feel it going down.’

‘Stop complaining. Can you think of any wretch who deserved it more?’

Any answer was lost in the sound of wingbeats on the air.


	20. Castles in the Air

‘I thought that I’d find you here.’ Phillip jogged across to where to Aurora was kneeling, diligently pulling weeds out of a rose bed. Apart from the raised beds and greenhouses of the kitchen gardens, the castle’s ornamental gardens were not uppermost in anyone’s thoughts. They were, however, the one place in which Aurora could find any peace and she took every opportunity to escape to the overblown scents of rampant rose and honeysuckle.

Phillip dropped down beside her. There were, he had discovered, many fine horses in the stables and he was perfectly happy to spend hours of each day mucking out the stalls and exercising and grooming the animals.

His mother, he was quite sure, would have been outraged at the idea of him presenting himself to a royal princess when he still had straw in his hair, dirt under his fingernails and his shirt sticking to the sweat coating his body. He could hear her protesting voice as clearly as if she had been there. Aurora didn’t seem to notice his disarray and if she did she didn’t care. It felt thrillingly liberating.

He stretched out on the grass, watched her work at adding to her pile of weeds.

‘How are things?’

‘Oh...’ Aurora sat back on her haunches, wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. ‘It’s alright.’ She sighed. ‘They still want me to be queen, though.’

He smiled. ‘But you are the queen.’

‘I suppose.’ She leaned forward again, jabbed savagely at a stubborn plant with dark, prickly leaves. ‘It isn’t just that.’ Aurora abandoned her roses, turned to him fully and there was distress in her features. ‘Everyone has been very kind and all of the council are very nice...’ Men with tired faces and hollow eyes. ‘But they all _look_ at me, as though... Oh, I don’t know. As though they think I’m about to do something awful.’

Phillip listened, nodded, pulled up bits of grass and let them fall from his fingers. And remembered again some of the things that his father had told him, some of the even worse things he had heard from the men in the barracks after the first few tankards. ‘It isn’t you,’ he said, trying to be kind. ‘It’s because of your father, the things he did-’

Anger clouded her face, swift as a summer storm. ‘That’s ridiculous. My father- He’s the most gentle person in the world, he wouldn’t hurt anyone. I’m so tired of all the awful stories told about him and none of them are true!’

Phillip stared at her. The silence between them crackled. And then, just as suddenly, the storm passed and her smile was sunshine again. She looked at him with something approaching pity. ‘You meant Stefan, didn’t you?’

‘Yes...’ Not unreasonably, Phillip thought. And frowned. ‘Why, who did you mean?’

‘Diaval,’ she said simply, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

‘Oh...’ he said weakly. ‘Of course.’

Aurora sighed, gently stroked the deep pink petals of a blowsy rose its scent sweet and heady. ‘I hadn’t thought of that. About King Stefan, I mean. But that does make sense.’ A man she had never known and it felt sometimes as though she would never be free of him.

The sudden sadness in her face was hard to take. Phillip’s eyes dropped, fingers pulling clumsily at blades of grass. ‘I shouldn’t have said anything.’

‘No.’ Her eyes were steady and sincere. ‘No, it’s better that I know.’

He nodded unhappily. But then she smiled at him again, and everything around the edges of that smile became indistinct and nothing in the world mattered as long as she was smiling.

‘Phillip.’

‘Yes?’

‘Would you like to come and have dinner tonight?’

He swallowed. ‘With you?’

She laughed, a light, bright sound. ‘Yes. On the Moors.’

‘I, uh...’

‘I asked Godmother,’ she continued, ‘and she said- Well, anyway, you can come. If you like?’

Phillip thought about this and nodded slowly. ‘Dinner with you _and_ Maleficent.’

‘And Diaval will be there,’ Aurora added brightly, with what was clearly meant to be reassurance.

‘Oh... Good.’ If he were honest, Phillip would have to admit that he found Diaval as unsettling a presence as he did Maleficent. If he were completely honest, he would admit that he found Diaval even _more_ unsettling. After all, Maleficent always looked like Maleficent, it wasn’t as though you could mistake her for anyone else; whereas with Diaval, you never knew when he would be a man or a raven or a fire-breathing dragon, which was absolutely Phillip’s least favourite of Diaval’s various incarnations.

And he was Aurora’s father.

Which was... fine. Absolutely fine. Nothing to worry about there at all.

‘So, will you come?’

‘I wouldn’t miss it.’

She was well named, he thought; the full glory of her smile was like the sunrise.

Aurora brushed the soil from her hands and stood, cheerfully oblivious to the black marks streaking her dress and the complete disarrangement of her hair. ‘I should get back.’

‘Let me walk you in.’ Philip offered her his arm in the approved courtly manner and she took it gravely, her cheeks dimpling.

‘Oh! I forgot to tell you - I’ve had a letter from home.’

‘Oh?’

He nodded. ‘Ulstead will buy much of the iron from Perceforest.’

Aurora stopped on the threshold of the great door leading back into the hall. ‘Really?’

‘Yes.’

Something in the line of her shoulders relaxed. ‘I am glad,’ she murmured. It was happy news and it would be nice to tell something to Sir Angus that might ease the lines across his brow and the weariness in his kind grey eyes. ‘What will you do with it all?’

‘Mother didn’t say.’

She tilted her head. ‘Your mother wants the iron?’

They passed through the portico into the cool of the great hall that was slowly returning to something of its former glory.

Phillip shrugged slightly. ‘She always has some project or other that she’s working on.’ He had tried to learn more about his mother’s interests, but the answers to his eager questions had always been so vague that he had simply stopped asking.

Aurora tried to picture the Queen of Ulstead, the woman who would be Phillip’s mother. A wise, kindly, beautiful woman, she decided. ‘She sounds wonderful.’

‘She works very hard for Ulstead,’ Phillip said loyally.

And they continued up to the chancellor’s rooms.

* * *

The towering tangle of wicked thorns that had defended the Moors for so long had fallen. The healing earth still bore the evidence of their existence, the newly grown grass a vivid green, the trees slowly reclaiming the space that they had been denied for so long.

At the edge of what would once have been the start of the borderlands, the standing stones that acted as unseeing sentinels casting long shadows under the lowered sun, Phillip took a breath and then another. He felt a thrum of excitement that was not only about seeing Aurora.

The Moors.

His childhood had been coloured by stories of fear, of the hideous, ferocious evil that lived there. But alongside that had been his father’s gentler, more wistful view. Lands of mystery and magic, certainly, but lands of strange and beautiful creatures, of ancient wisdom and, fundamentally, of more commonality than one would have supposed.

It was the latter view that had always been more appealing to Phillip.

Moorfolk had raised Aurora. Gentle, lionhearted Aurora. He saw in Diaval, a raven, a tender concern for his human daughter that he recognised from his own father. It should have been nonsensical. Phillip found that it all made perfect sense. Almost.

The landscape was bathed in gold; even the spires of the castle rising on the hill seemed softened, glowing amber against the deep blue sky. The earth smelt rich and sweet. Birdsong as mates trilled to one another and warned off any interlopers. And then a low cawing. Phillip looked up and found a raven observing him from a perch on top of one of the standing stones. He straightened, his spine snapping with the movement.

‘Diaval!’ For a moment he stared at the bird and its beady black eyes that were fixed on him intently. And reminded himself that he was a prince and that he was addressing the ... father ... of a queen. He bowed low. ‘Good evening, Lord Diaval. How kind of you to invite me here this evening.’ The bird tilted its head. ‘I trust that Lady Maleficent is well.’

‘She’s fine,’ said a husky voice behind him. ‘But you’ll be seeing her in a few minutes, so you will, so you can ask her yourself.’

Diaval, leaning against a tree, his arms folded, was watching Phillip with evident amusement. The raven let out an irritated squawk and flapped away across the plain.

‘Uh...’

‘That was a lady raven, by the way.’

‘Ah.’

‘She’ll be all sorts of offended.’

‘Oh.’

Diaval enjoyed the young prince’s discomfort for a few moments more, and then decided to release him. ‘Come on; it’s this way.’

With his head lowered, and his cheeks startlingly pink, Phillip stepped across the boundary and into the Moors.

He did not turn to stone. He did not disintegrate. He was not set upon by ravening monsters and devoured. He walked through a very pretty piece of woodland that rustled with the activities of small mammals, birdlife, and excitable fairies.

‘What was all of that?’

Startled, Phillip stopped. ‘All of what?’

‘That stuff. “How very kind of you to invite me here this evening”.’ He intoned it with what Phillip feared was a very accurate impersonation. Guileless black eyes were turned on him inquisitively.

‘Oh…’ Relaxing fractionally, Phillip continued along the path that they had been following. ‘That was just small talk, really.’

Diaval frowned, repeating the words slowly. ‘Small talk?’

‘Yes, it’s, uh…’

Not something that he had ever really thought about before. And now that he had, it did seem rather peculiar. ‘Well… It’s an exchange of pleasantries. In social situations, when you don’t know people very well, it’s a way of talking without having to talk about anything important.’

Diaval considered this for some time, his lips pushing out and then in as he ran it over. ‘I see the logic of it,’ he announced, after a while.

The Moors were at once strange and familiar. Plants that Phillips had known his whole life grew alongside species he had never seen before and he was certain that innumerable eyes were watching their progress from behind the thick curtain of leaves.

‘Did you find your way here alright?’

Phillip nodded. ‘Yes, I did. Aurora’s directions were very clear.’

‘Good.’

A pause.

‘That was it, wasn’t it?’

Phillip’s feet performed a sort of stutter and he regarded his guide in confusion. ‘I’m sorry?’

Diaval was grinning at him. ‘What we just did; that was small talk, wasn’t it?’

A breath of laughter of rose to Phillip’s lips. ‘Yes. Yes, it was.’

‘Sure, there’s nothing to it!’ Even in his man form, the raven puffed himself up and continued his escort of the young prince through the Moors in a lordly fashion.

They had not quite reached their destination before another body erupted through a thicket of bright green leaves and Aurora bounded towards them. ‘Phillip! I’m so glad you came!’

She looked like all of his imaginings of a fairy creature, with her golden hair falling about her face and the gauzy gown of rose-coloured silk floating about her. He swallowed, hard. Diaval, considerate as always, thumped him on the back to save him from his apparent fit of choking.

He wheezed, blinking back tears, and considered that as far as dashing princes went, he was not making a particularly good job of it.

Impulsive as always, eager for her friend to share the wonder of the Moors, Aurora seized his hand and pulled him onwards, her bare feet light over the brilliant green grass, laughter rising on the warm air. She pushed through a curtain of white flowers, into a wide opening and Phillip caught his breath.

Weeping willows reflected in clear waters, trees and shrubs dressed in clinging vines and exuberant flowers. Wide flat stones formed natural steps up to a dais of grass and moss, butterflies and - he blinked again - tiny fairies tumbled about. Beneath a spreading cherry tree was a throne that had been formed of its own entwined branches.

‘If you think that’s impressive,’ Diaval told him, reading the awe in the boy’s face, ‘just wait ‘til you look up.’

He did.

It took a moment before he fully realised what he was looking at. The delicate stone spires were natural rock formations, bound by great tree trunks and their vines; platforms of stone and wood twisted around the central structure, screened by a latticework of branches that bloomed white.

‘Isn’t it beautiful?’ Aurora breathed, gazing up at it alongside him.

‘It’s extraordinary!’

‘Godmother conjured it out of the rocks and trees. I said I wanted to sleep in a tree and...’ She laughed slightly, shaking her head. ‘She built this.’

‘And it’s best not to keep her waiting,’ Diaval added.

Aurora’s lips curled, eyes bright with amusement. ‘Hungry, by any chance?’

‘Starving.’

Diaval, as far as Aurora could tell, was always starving and never missed an opportunity for a meal. It must be the constant transformations and running all over the Moors that kept him so lean, she thought; he seemed to get through enough food for an army each day. She slipped her arm through his. ‘Come on!’

Phillip followed them slowly. The stone archway behind the throne led into a vast hall, light streaming through the natural apertures. The springy carpet was moss and, as with the exterior, the cool interior held twisting vines bearing headily-scented flowers. He followed the pair to the staircase that wound its way around the outside of the palace. Leaves and flowers seemed to burst into life as they walked. The palace was alive, he realised, nature agreeing to take and hold these forms but still retaining its own cycles of birth and growth.

He thought of the grandeur and formality of the castle at Ulstead. It was stately and beautiful and it was his home, so he loved it, but somehow it felt as nothing to this. So simple, yet so overwhelming. His father’s castle had been greatly expanded at his mother’s insistence, he knew. In honour of such a wise and just king, she had always said; but King John was a modest man and Phillip had long suspected that his father had given in to the queen’s ambitions to keep her happy. She had lost much early in her life, his father had always said. He wanted to make it up to her.

‘My father would love this,’ he said, unaware that he had spoken out loud until Aurora’s bright face turned back to him.

‘We must invite him! And your mother, too!’

‘Uh...’

They had reached a platform of natural stone bounded by the strong branches of an oak. Phillip had time only to admire, fleetingly, the view afforded across the Moors before he stepped up again and into a large, curved open-air pavilion. Like the main hall below it was carpeted with moss, but it was a more intimate space and was decorated with fleece rugs, cushions, seats and a low table laden with platters, jugs and goblets.

‘He’s here, Godmother!’

Maleficent turned her gaze from the glow of sunset burnishing the Moors to Phillip. ‘Oh. It’s _that_ boy,’ she said, as though she had been expecting someone else.

‘Be nice,’ Diaval muttered at her.

She spared him a blaze of gold before returning her penetrating stare to the unfortunate scion of the noble house of Ulstead.

Phillip bowed low. ‘Lady Maleficent. I am honoured to be here.’

Her eyebrows flickered minutely, first at the mode of address, second at the clear sincerity of his words. But she had heard sincerity from human lips before and she would make no apology for being wary of hearing it again.

They sat around the low table. The food was simple but plentiful and Diaval, as was his wont, piled his plate with food as though he had seen none for weeks and was uncertain when he would see it next.

Aurora, sitting on a large cushion, feet tucked under herself, ate more daintily; Maleficent... Maleficent lounged elegantly, her long fingers seeming to toy with the food more than actually eat it.

She was still incredibly beautiful, but where her beauty had been wild and intimidating in the sombre surrounds of Perceforest - (and she was still intimidating) - here it seemed far more natural. Her robe the colour of autumn leaves, her dark hair falling straight and silken about her shoulders, she seemed as much of the land as the trees that surrounded them - and much less the vengeful angel that Phillip had seen at the castle.

Aurora fiddled with her napkin, dabbed her mouth with it, replaced it in her lap. ‘You must be used to much more formal dinners.’

Phillip nodded. ‘Yes, I suppose I am.’

‘What do you talk about?’ Conversation, so far, had not exactly flowed.

‘Well...’ It didn’t particularly flow at Ulstead, when he really thought about it. ‘Family matters. Kingdom business. To be honest, I much prefer eating with the guards. That’s probably why I like staying at the barracks,’ he added, smiling ruefully. ‘We tell a lot of stories.’

Aurora’s eyes gleamed. ‘Diaval tells wonderful stories! They’re raven-lore, you know, so hardly anyone ever gets to hear them. Except for ravens, of course.’

Phillip turned to Diaval immediately. ‘I’d love to hear one.’

Diaval murmured indistinctly through a large mouthful of fruit that he swallowed with an effort, his black eyes already gleaming with pleasure. ‘Well now...’

‘Which is the one that you always say is funny?’ Aurora took another black nut, remembering well the admonitions on eating too many, but sure that a fourth could do her no harm.

‘Tassach the Lazy,’ Diaval said happily.

Evening had drawn in. Beyond the windows formed by the intricate pattern of branches and vines, the sky was dark. Fireflies and glow-worms illuminated the pavilion, glowing amber and deep gold.

‘Tassach was a fine black raven, big and strong. Talons that could cut through oak and a wingspan as long as your arm. But while his brothers and sisters would be off foraging all day, he earned himself the reputation of being Tassach both by name _and_ by nature.’ Diaval laughed, a cackling sound that subsided when he realised, deflatingly, that his companions did not share the humour. He sighed. ‘Tassach means lazy. It’s a joke.’

‘ _Raven-funny_ ,’ Maleficent mouthed to Aurora. She choked slightly, trying to suppress a laugh.

‘I saw that!’ he said, indignant.

‘I think it was an awfully good joke,’ Phillip said, determined to make a good impression with his hosts. ‘A play on words.’

‘Yes! Thank you, Phillip. It’s nice to be appreciated,’ he said, looking meaningfully at Maleficent.

Give a raven flattery, Maleficent thought, and he’d be unbearable for a week. ‘Will you get on with it?’

‘Right. Where was I..?’

‘Lazy the Lazy,’ Maleficent murmured helpfully.

Diaval sighed heavily down his nose and then decided that ignoring her would be sufficient punishment. ‘Tassach had a nest in an old oak tree and spent most of his days perched on a low branch. Sometimes he’d hop down to catch himself a fine fat worm or nice juicy mouse that was taking too long to pass by - in general he preferred his food to come to him, rather than the other way around.’

‘Sounds very sensible to me,’ Aurora said.

‘Ah now, we’re coming to that,’ Diaval told her severely.

‘Sorry.’ She failed to hide an unrepentant smile.

‘The rest of his unkindness always tried to get him to join them on their foraging, and, very rarely, he would. On this day they asked once more and he spread his wings and took to the air, rising high on a thermal, before dropping back down to his branch again, putting his head under his wing, and that was the end of that. So his brothers and sisters flew off and left him to it.

A little while later, a great commotion kicked off on the horizon and slowly came closer and closer. It was an army of soldiers and they made their camp in the clearing where Tassach had his tree.

Now, the general of this army was a pompous sort, all swagger and bluster and he tried to shoo Tassach off his very own branch as he thought an innocent common raven was a harbinger of death.

So Tassach flapped down and landed on the pommel of the general’s saddle - and there he stayed, and not all the cursing and chasing could see him off.

In the end, so as not to lose face in front of his men, the general said that the raven on his horse meant death to their enemies and so he rode into battle with Tassach perched, sleeping, on his saddle and cursing the bird under his breath all of the way. The names he called him! And the things he wished on him! A cat’s curse he wished on him and all sorts of things too dreadful for tender ears to hear.

The battle was bloody, raging for hours, and when it was over the field was strewn with the bodies of men with their limbs hacked and their insides spilling out. And it was a rare feast for the unkindness that descended and their pick of all the best spoils; and weren’t they amazed to find Tassach there, having already eaten his fill.

But while Tassach might have been lazy, he was no fool. For when he had risen on the air, hadn’t he seen the army on its way towards him? And didn’t he see the other soldiers waiting in the valley beyond? Sure, he knew there’d be a battle and so plenty of food for a hungry bird; and being the clever raven he was, he got himself a grand ride all the way there on the general’s horse!

And Tassach got the last laugh on the general who had so cruelly abused and cursed him, for the general was slain in the battle and the last words on his lips, as he’d stared up at the black wings circling him, was another curse on that poor black bird. He’d breathed his last, still staring up at the heavens … and Tassach pecked out both his eyes and had himself a rare grand meal.’

In the half-light, with his black eyes unblinking and his sharp nose prominent in his shadowed face, Diaval looked more than ever like the bird that he truly was. His gaze firmly on the young prince of Ulstead, Diaval popped a large white grape into his mouth and bit into it with relish, its glistening skin resembling uncomfortably-

Phillip choked on a non-existent something in his throat, his face wearing a glassy expression and it was this more than anything that set Aurora laughing.

Diaval leaned towards Maleficent. ‘Didn’t I tell you it was a funny story?’

Her lips twitched despite herself. ‘You odious bird.’

He grinned at her.

* * *

The evening had not been entirely unpleasant, Maleficent decided.

Most of the conversation had been supplied, seemingly effortlessly, by the other three. Aurora, naturally, had sought to include her but accepted without offence that Maleficent was content to listen more and speak less.

The fairy observed the group: Phillip - not completely objectionable, for a human - submitting with good humour to Diaval’s barrage of questions, Aurora occasionally adding commentary of her own, but she seemed to be as curious about life in the realm of humans as Diaval.

‘Aurora.’ Maleficent unfolded herself, standing gracefully, taking a moment to steady against the weight of her wings that still felt strange to her at times. ‘I want to talk to you.’

Leaving the prince in Diaval’s clutches, they descended. Aurora loved the Moors at all times, but there was something about the nights, with their heavy scent of stocks and glowing purples and greens casting illumination into the deep shadows. Maleficent arranged herself on one of the large stone steps; Aurora sat beside her, eager face expectant and only slightly apprehensive.

Maleficent took a moment, looking across her lands. ‘There is to be a coronation on the Moors.’

Any trepidation on Aurora’s part vanished in a haze of excitement. ‘I’m so glad! You _should_ be queen again.’

She smiled slightly, shook her head. ‘I didn’t mean me.’

‘Oh…’

‘Besides,’ Maleficent continued, thoughtful, ‘I don’t think I was a very good queen. In fact, Diaval tells me that I was quite dreadful.’

Aurora sucked in a breath, ready to defend her godmother against any criticism - even from Diaval. ‘I’m sure he didn’t say that!’

‘No, that was his exact word.’ She said it placidly, quite unruffled in accepting the truth of his assessment. ‘I love the Moors and I will defend the Moorfolk with everything I have. But many of them are silly creatures. I find I have no patience for their bickering and petty squabbles - I’m much more suited to being the Guardian of the Moors, not its queen. They need a leader who shows their strength through kindness.’

‘But you are kind,’ Aurora said softly, looking up at the proud face with its angular lines. Gold eyes turned to her with a flash of wry amusement. ‘You’ve always been kind to me. No matter what.’

Maleficent shook her head again and in a rare moment of tenderness lightly stroked Aurora’s face with her fingers. ‘Sweet Aurora. That’s exactly why they need you.’

Frogs croaked. Unseen creatures rustled the undergrowth.

‘Me.’

‘Yes.’

‘You mean- You mean me as-as queen?’

‘Yes,’ Maleficent responded, a hint of impatience at the edge of her tone; she was not certain how she could have been any clearer in her meaning.

‘So, I can live here always?’ It really was as though the sun were shining, so bright was her face in that moment.

‘I did build this palace for you.’

‘Godmother!’

She was becoming accustomed to the ferocity of Aurora’s embraces; she returned it more carefully but with no less fervour of feeling. Her wings rippled slightly with pleasure.

‘So, you’ve told her then.’ Standing on the dais beside the throne, Diaval beamed down at them, Phillip, bemused, slightly behind.

Aurora jumped up, barrelled towards him; he caught her, strong and steady as always as his arms folded about her. She could sense his black-taloned hand in all of this.

‘You’ll have to start practising your curtsy,’ he told Maleficent over the top of Aurora’s head.

She narrowed her eyes at him.

He waved a hand. ‘We can skip that part.’


	21. The Path of Tears

Sir Angus McLeish ran a hand through his hair, strands standing out at impossible angles as a result. ‘Your Majesty, you can’t keep putting this off!’ Wheeling away from the obstinate blue eyes, he addressed himself to the figure lounging in the window seat. ‘Will you talk to her?’

Looking up from his book, Diaval shrugged slightly. ‘She has a will of iron. She gets it from her godmother.’

Taking this as a compliment, Aurora beamed at him.

Sir Angus breathed heavily. ‘Even so, we still need a coronation ceremony. You have to be crowned as queen.’

Aurora’s chin lifted a fraction. ‘You keep telling me that I am queen - what difference does it make?’

‘Because until that crown is placed on your head the situation is very ... fluid. Nothing is truly official.’ He paused, watching her. ‘And you know that very well, otherwise you wouldn’t keep finding reasons not to go through with the coronation.’

She pushed her lips together, looked up at him apologetically. ‘I am sorry. You’ve been so very kind and I really don’t want to make things more difficult for you.’

‘Your Majesty-’

A hint of warning in those blue eyes. He smiled slightly, his tone softening.

‘Aurora. Perceforest has not been the happiest of places for a long while. It needs stability. Someone who cares for its interests.’

Her head lowered, shoulders sagging; and not for the first time, Sir Angus felt that there was precious little right in the situation. He looked across at Diaval, and the other man’s dark eyes were fixed on Aurora’s bowed head.

He had not been, at first, convinced that Lennox was not playing an elaborate joke when he had told him of the raven who was also a horse and a dragon and a man. Except that the Captain of the Guard was not noted for his sense of humour - and Sir Angus was also a man who was happy to believe without seeing.

The young queen had been accompanied by that extraordinary black bird on her first visits until, without warning, she had arrived with a young man who greeted them all as though he knew them, referred to conversations that he could have known nothing about (unless he had been perched on something with his head under his wing pretending to be asleep), and so Sir Angus had met Diaval.

That this creature of the Moors had a flair for diplomacy was reassuring, that he seemed to know as much about the political wrangling of Perceforest as any councillor was disconcerting, but on the whole Sir Angus was relieved that the girl had an adviser who understood more of the world than the luxurious confines of a wealthy castle.

Not that he had anything against Prince Phillip. The boy seemed to have his father’s level head and good heart. But Ulstead was a militaristic kingdom and much of their peace had been won through the conquering and annexation of territories worn down by squabbling and strife.

He was glad of the financial aid due to the sale of Perceforest’s few resources to their wealthier neighbour, but he was wary of becoming too indebted. King John was a good man, he had no doubt; but he found Queen Ingrith a little too charming to be entirely trustworthy.

Aurora worried at the mark on the pad of one forefinger; the wound had long healed, but the evidence of that curse had not entirely gone away. It ached sometimes, usually when she was in the castle grounds, as though something in the fabric of the place still echoed the words spoken so long ago. She looked up again at Sir Angus. ‘What happens if I don’t take the crown?’

‘There are no other heirs,’ he replied flatly. He had answered that question to himself many times over countless sleepless nights. ‘There is no-one else of King Henry’s line and Stefan had no other children. There would be a power struggle and we might end up with someone competent, at best. Another tyrant, at worst. Or chaos.’

So far there had been no challenges for the throne. But there were some rumblings of disquiet. Some suspicion of Aurora’s ties to the Moors, although there had not, as yet, been any overt hostility. The removal of the thorn wall had been taken as a gesture of goodwill by most. But a kingdom without a leader would soon be swallowed up by another, stronger neighbour and he thought again of the young prince of Ulstead. The boy’s interest in Perceforest seemed to reside exclusively in Aurora, but he was still very young. They both were. Sir Angus had not risen to his current position by being anything other than a pragmatist - but he still disliked the idea of either of those two young people being manipulated for the sake of political expediency.

While he had been lost in these ruminations, Aurora had pushed back her chair, legs scraping against the stone floor. She paced the room, stopping in front of Diaval who offered her a sympathetic smile and swung his long legs down from the window seat, making room for her. She sat beside him, her hand finding its way into his, fingers lacing together.

‘I’m to be Queen of the Moors. Isn’t that enough? Can’t I be Queen of Perceforest from there?’

Sir Angus pressed his lips together, studied her face. He looked at Diaval and saw the sorrow in the other man’s face. ‘Will you explain it to her?’

Diaval glanced at him, then tightened his hold on Aurora’s hand as she turned her eyes to him. ‘I don’t think,’ he said softly, ‘that the people here would much care to be ruled by the Moors.’

She shook her head, desperation rising, filling her throat, pressing behind her eyes. ‘But they wouldn’t be! It’s not like that - you know it isn’t!’

‘But it’s how people would feel,’ Sir Angus said, trying to keep his tone gentle and reasonable and knew that each word was unravelling her.

‘Yes, I see,’ she murmured after a moment. Then:

‘What if I were to name someone else as king? Or queen. But someone who would be good for the kingdom.’

She looked at him hopefully and Sir Angus thought about it and then realised that _she was looking at him hopefully_ and-

‘No!’ He shook his head, holding up his hands. ‘No, I have about as much interest in being king as you-’ He paused, and smiled ruefully. ‘As you have in being queen.’

The silence was filled with the _tick-tick-tick_ of the fine old clock marking time on the mantelpiece. Their lives caught somewhere between those ceaseless swings of the pendulum.

‘Let me give it some thought,’ Sir Angus said, as though it had not been all that he had thought about these weeks past. ‘There’ll be an answer.’

* * *

‘What am I going to do?’

‘Would it really be so bad? Being queen?’

Aurora flashed Diaval a mutinous look.

‘Just think of all the shiny things you could have.’

‘I have all the shiny things I need, thank you,’ she responded primly.

Diaval laughed, put his arm around her shoulders and held her to him. She turned her face into his chest, closing her eyes for a moment. And then sighed, raised her head.

‘But what _am_ I going to do? This isn’t my home. I don’t belong here.’

They walked through the castle courtyard, across cobbles and straw, by now so familiar a sight that the guards barely spared them a glance. Her arm still through his, Aurora looked around at the grey stone rising about them. ‘Can you imagine if I’d grown up here?’

Diaval’s head tilted, considering it. ‘You’d be too grand to be seen with the likes of me.’

She was outraged, her cheeks colouring, her eyes snapping, despite her breath of laughter. ‘That isn’t true!’

‘You’d have been all in grand gowns, dripping in shiny things, and holding your nose in the air like this.’ He tilted his head back, pushed the pointed tip of his own nose up with one finger and enacted an exaggerated version of a great lady passing by. ‘You’d have set a servant to kick my poor self out of your way, so you would. Ow!’

‘I’m going to tell Godmother what you said!’

‘And I’ll tell her all the abuse that’s been heaped on a poor undeserving raven,’ he replied, rubbing his arm where she had hit him. His black eyes sparkled with mischief.

His reward was a vast quantity of straw grabbed up from the cobbles and deposited on his head.

This did attract the attention of the guards and they watched, bemused, as the uncrowned queen of Perceforest and her protector (what else could you call a raven-man-dragon?) threw handfuls of straw at each other.

Some of the younger members of the troop gazed at the golden-haired girl, her face alight with laughter, and were ready to swear themselves to her unto death. The older members regarded them with pity and the girl with a different kind of pity. She seemed too sweet and unspoiled for what was being asked of her. They gruffly steered their young charges away, barking orders about horses that needed grooming and borders that needed patrolling.

When a truce was called, Diaval spat out a mouthful of straw. ‘Ugh. I’m none too sure that was clean.’

Aurora, breathless, looked down at the muddy stains on her dress. ‘I think you might be right.’

They made their way to a trough running the length of an outbuilding; Aurora handed over her handkerchief and obediently turned her face up to his as Diaval dipped the cloth in water and applied it to her dirt-streaked cheeks.

With some of her nervous energy expelled, Aurora sat beside Diaval on the edge of the trough, watched as he flicked bits of straw and dirt from his coat.

‘I still don’t know what to do,’ she said softly.

There was silence for a while, moments where all the noises were hooves and heavy boots striking the cobbles, the farriers calling cheerfully to one another, and the steady trickle of water into the stone trough.

Diaval tilted his head back, stretching out his neck, fixed her with his bright black eyes. ‘Did the mistress tell you why she’s making you queen?’

‘Yes.’ She looked at him, enquiring.

‘And?’

‘She said the Moorfolk need someone who will listen to them.’

‘And?’

She wasn’t certain what it was that he wanted her to say; she raked his face and could find no answer. ‘That… That I was good at listening to them.’

Diaval sighed. ‘It was easier teaching you to read.’ He eyed her severely. ‘How did you get good at listening to them?’

‘Well, I-’ She paused, smiled slightly. ‘I got to know them, and their problems.’

‘Finally.’ He took her hand. ‘Come on.’

* * *

‘I’m still not sure this was a good idea.’ Captain Lennox glowered at a stall-holder who had, in his opinion, inched too close. He levelled a venomous glare at the man.

‘Will you stop that? If I’d known you’d be putting the evil eye on everyone, I wouldn’t have asked you to help.’

At Diaval’s suggestion that she spend time with the citizens of Perceforest, Aurora had immediately declared that they should begin right then. And while he would willingly fight any threat to his beloved fledgling, Diaval was fully aware that he was not a warrior and when stuck in his man-form he could do very little if something were to befall them.

They needed an escort.

But being surrounded by an entire troop of soldiers would defeat the purpose of the whole exercise and so he had presented both himself and a slightly unwilling Aurora to Lennox and explained the plan.

Which was how it came about that while Aurora and Diaval had walked through the streets of the town that had, over centuries, built itself around the castle, they had been accompanied by the ambling figure of an off-duty soldier who saw assassins lurking in every shadow and a threat in every person who stepped a shade too close.

Aurora looked about her with interest and a growing sense of guilt. Her thoughts on Perceforest were centred on the castle: that she had to go there, that she would do what was wanted of her so that she could leave it again and go back to the Moors. She had not thought of the wider population, of the townsfolk just beyond the castle walls, the farmers and peasants in the countryside, except in the abstract, as people by whom she wanted to do right, but with whom she felt no fellowship.

It was a pretty town, she thought, with its cobbled streets and the stone buildings with their thatched roofs. But there was an air of desolation about the place, a sense of people who had been living on too little for too long. The market square was large and should have been buzzing with activity. The stalls were few, somewhat shabby, and the wares meagre.

Aurora saw it, thought again of the wealth and luxury still held within the castle walls and felt a spear of emotion that she rarely experienced but she recognised its burn. It was anger.

A stall-holder selling fruit and other produce gave her a posey of pretty flowers and she pinned it to her cloak.

‘Didn’t anyone ever warn you against accepting gifts from strangers?’ Diaval said teasingly.

‘Oh, my aunties were always warning me against strange men,’ she said, her voice cheerful. She finished fixing her flowers in place and added thoughtfully: ‘I suppose, really, that I should have been terrified of you.’ In retrospect, she realised that it had never occurred to her to be afraid. ‘I was more nervous when I met Phillip.’

His head tilted, quizzical. ‘You didn’t look very nervous from where we were standing.’

‘I-’ Her eyes widened a fraction. ‘Is there anything you two didn’t see?’

‘Not much,’ he said with pride. Another thought struck him. ‘Hold on - are you saying that Phillip is scarier than me? Because I can be very scary.’

She swung on his arm. ‘Of course you can,’ she said, reassuring. ‘And I didn’t say I was scared - nobody could be scared of Phillip!’

Diaval nodded, philosophically. ‘That’s true.’

They turned another corner, high buildings either side of a street so narrow it was more of a path. A painted sign hanging from an iron bracket attracted Aurora’s attention. Its bright colours seemed at odds with its subject: a scarred, gnarled tree trunk, its bare branches twisting up against a vivid blue sky like fingers clawed in desperation.

‘“The Wretched Oak”,’ she read out. ‘What’s that?’

‘A tavern,’ Lennox told her, terse, throwing a dark look at the establishment in question.

‘Oh?’

‘We won’t be going in,’ he stated, steering his charges down the street.

‘Oh.’ She frowned, casting a look back at the seemingly innocuous building with its pretty sign. ‘What _is_ a tavern?’ she asked Diaval.

‘No place a for a respectable young fledgling.’ He got his hand under her elbow, moving her at a faster pace. ‘Or a respectable raven, for that matter.’

Even from the outside, and with the door closed, he could still smell the inside and the stench of stale alcohol and unwashed bodies made his stomach heave. It was with immense relief that they emerged onto a wider, airier space with a row of neat houses that gave the impression of their inhabitants leading lives of the utmost moral rectitude.

Lennox scratched one ear, regarded his companions with a slightly uncertain look. ‘I, uh... My ... house ... is here. If you would care for a cup of tea and a wee bite of something.’

It was a small, homely house that reminded Aurora of the cottage where she had grown up. They were shown directly into the kitchen and were greeted by the astonished countenance of the captain’s wife.

Catrìona Lennox had been considered something of a beauty in her youth and in middle age had settled into a plump prettiness. She stared at the newcomers in disbelief, silently heaped curses on her husband’s head for having given her precisely no warning whatsoever, prayed that there were no smudges of flour on her face and bobbed a curtsy to Aurora with a murmur of, ‘Your Majesty.’

Aurora returned the greeting and then said immediately, ‘Please don’t call me that - I’m Aurora. And this is Diaval.’

‘It’s very kind of you, Ma’am.’ He bowed over her hand. ‘I hope it’s not an imposition.’

She was a good-humoured woman and couldn’t help a soft, slightly incredulous laugh at this courtly display. ‘None at all. Would you sit down? I have some drop scones on the griddle, if you’d care for some.’

Diaval’s black eyes lit up. ‘Ah, that would be grand!’

‘And who’s this?’ Aurora bent down until her eyes were level with a small boy with an abundance of freckles and unruly brown curls.

‘This is Coinneach,’ Lennox said, with palpable paternal pride. ‘Will you not say hello to the lady and gentleman?’

The little boy nodded vaguely at Aurora, murmured something that may have been a greeting and fixed his eyes on Diaval. ‘Why do you have feathers in your hair?’

‘That’s because I’m a raven.’

The child accepted this with only a hint of demur. He inspected Diaval with an owlish seriousness. ‘But you don’t look like a raven.’

Diaval nodded. ‘Well, I am a raven; but I get turned into a man. See - I’ve got talons instead of fingernails.’

Coinneach inspected the hands that were held out to him and then rewarded his new friend with a gap-toothed grin.

‘Will you leave him alone.’ He was pulled away by a girl of Aurora’s age who watched them both with undisguised interest.

‘And this is my eldest, Sìne.’

It was the first time that Aurora had properly met a girl of her own age and as they exchanged polite greetings, they examined each other with curious eyes.

‘I like your hair.’

Sìne touched the thin ribbons braided into her long chestnut tresses. ‘Thank you. I like your dress.’

Aurora’s face was radiant. ‘The fairies made it!’

The other girl blinked, surprised. ‘They know how to sew?’

A laugh greeted this. ‘Not a bit. They made it by magic. They do everything by magic.’

In the opposite corner of the kitchen, Captain Lennox found himself on the receiving end of his wife’s ire.

‘Could you have not let me know?’ Catrìona hissed under her breath. ‘I’ve got nothing ready - I’m not dressed for this!’

‘Och, she’s a nice girl - she doesn’t care about things like that.

She levelled a glare at her husband of such heat that it was a wonder he did not combust on the spot. ‘That’s as may be. But I _do_ care, and I’ll thank you to remember that in future, Hugh Lennox!’

Arranging her face into a smile, Catrìona placed a platter of hot drop scones on the table and invited her unexpected guests to help themselves. She set out cups, sugar, a jug of milk.

‘Sìne, will you make sure that water’s good and hot before you go wetting the tea? If I’ve told her once...’ she continued, her words dwindling to a murmur. Behind her, Sìne rolled her eyes and then carefully picked the kettle off the hob and poured the boiling water into the pot.

‘I’ve been showing Queen Aurora something of the town.’

‘That couldn’t have taken long,’ Catrìona remarked, settling herself at he wooden table. ‘There’s not a lot to see.’

Tea was poured out. Under her mother’s admonishing eye, Sìne attempted to keep her young brother occupied and quiet but for the most part the boy was engaged in a game with Diaval that largely consisted of making faces at each other.

‘And what did you think of the town?’

Aurora played with her cup, studying the contents. ‘Everyone is very friendly,’ she said, eventually. ‘But it all looks rather ... neglected.’

Catrìona nodded. ‘It is that. People have found the living quite hard these past years.’

The golden head nodded unhappily. ‘Because of King Stefan.’ He had never been a father to her; she would not give him that name.

‘He didn’t help. But King Henry wasn’t exactly the ideal king, either.’

‘Catrìona...’ Lennox sent his wife a warning look that was answered with a stiffening of her spine and her lips thinning.

‘You’ve said it yourself often enough - and more besides after a dram or two.’

‘Catrìona!’ Agonised. His eyes darted towards Aurora.

‘Perceforest hasn’t had a decent ruler for as long as I can remember, and that’s a fact,’ she continued, remorseless. ‘They all spent too long either worrying about being invaded by fairies and pixies or wanting to annex the Moors instead of looking after their own. And you can see the result for yourself.’

She wasn’t trying to be unkind. Catrìona saw the unhappiness in the girl’s face as she spoke. But she also saw resolve and intelligence and thought that, despite Aurora’s youth, anyone who underestimated her would be making a mistake. She glanced at the dark-haired man who seemed more interested in devouring drop scones at a rate that impressed even the insatiable Coinneach - but had little doubt that he had been paying close attention to every word that had been said.

Aurora met Catrìona’s eyes levelly. ‘What do people need here?’ She shrugged slightly, her cheeks flushing. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t really know how to ask it. I just-’

‘A decent home. Enough food. Not losing their sons in pointless wars.’ Catrìona paused. ‘A say in how our lives are run, maybe.’

Aurora smiled slightly, took more of her tea. She held the cup between her hands, letting the warmth seep in. ‘That sounds simple enough.’

‘Aye, it does... Seems awful difficult to get it, somehow.’

‘I’m not sure I’m the right person for all of this, though.’

‘Can’t be any worse than what came before,’ Lennox said, his voice gruff.

A somewhat damning assessment, Aurora thought; and not one that made her feel any better. ‘Phil-’ She cleared her throat. ‘Prince Phillip told me that people are likely not to trust me because of King Stefan.’ She was proud of herself being able to say it without stumbling.

Catrìona glanced at her husband. ‘There’s that,’ she said slowly. ‘In the countryside it’s more the stories told about the Moors. Especially about your man over here.’ She jerked her chin in Diaval’s direction.

He sucked in a breath, his expression stricken. ‘It’s all nonsense,’ he said quickly. ‘Sure, if it isn’t all bogeyman ráiméis about spoiling crops and the like.’

‘Maybe that’s how it started,’ Catrìona said, her voice soft and steely, ‘but there’s much worse that’s happened of late.’

He felt a burn of shame. Why he should feel it for things, terrible things, done by someone else in a name that wasn’t his, Diaval didn’t know. But he felt it; he saw Aurora’s lowered head and wished more than anything that they were away from all this, from this human world that, despite everything he had seen, and all the years he had spent watching, he still couldn’t quite understand.

‘I’ve heard the stories,’ Aurora said, her eyes fixed on her hands that gripped each other, knuckles whitening.

The world fell away with the same sickening force as when the curse had taken hold; a swooping in his stomach that left him clammy and cold and Diaval stared at her. ‘How?’

His voice was all but lost in a croak.

She looked up at him and forced an apologetic smile. ‘I’ve been at the castle a lot, you know, I’ve heard things. They were so awful- I didn’t want you to know! But I... I told-’

His eyes closed briefly. ‘You told Maleficent.’

She nodded. ‘She didn’t say anything. But she was so angry.’ Green flame at her fingertips and her eyes unearthly; in that moment, Aurora could understand perfectly how people could be terrified of her.

Their hosts watched them, eyes curious. Diaval took Aurora’s hand in his.

‘I know what they call me,’ he said firmly. ‘But I am not Diablo.’

‘No,’ Catrìona said, ‘but there’s been some fellow going around these months past calling himself Diablo. And he’s got a lot to answer for.’

The full meaning of her words took hold a few moments after she had pronounced them and Diaval looked at her, puzzled.

‘Jamie McDougall is a cousin of mine,’ she said; he returned her a blank confusion and she continued: ‘He has a daughter. Rhona.’

He caught his breath. Bright points of colour appeared in his pale cheeks and he remembered that child, frightened and hurting and he felt sick. He felt Aurora watching him and couldn’t bring himself to meet her eyes.

‘According to Rhona, this “Diablo” had dark hair, a scar on his face and a Midlands accent. And she won’t hear a word against Maleficent. Or you, come to that. Neither will Jamie, and he’s very respected in these parts. There’s some different stories being told now.’

He nodded dumbly, felt Aurora tighten her fingers around his. He looked at her then, saw questions in her eyes and silently pleaded that she not ask any more. She smiled, her clear eyes filled with sympathy.

‘It isn’t fair,’ she said after a while. ‘People still believe awful things and they aren’t true.’

Catrìona leaned back in her chair, glanced over at where Sìne was keeping her brother entertained with an intricate game of cat’s cradle. ‘People used to call my mother a witch.’

Lennox snorted. ‘Your mother _was_ a witch.’

‘Hugh!’ She turned an admonishing gaze on her husband, ignored the smirk as he took more of his tea. ‘She was a healer, knew lots of the old ways that have passed out of fashion. People didn’t know how to account for that. And she had the Gift.’

Another snort greeted that statement. ‘If you can call a sharp tongue a gift...’

‘Aye, well, she did say I’d marry a man who was tall, dark and handsome,’ Catrìona said sweetly, ‘and she was wrong on all three.’

‘Hey!’

In her corner of the kitchen, Sìne suppressed a snigger.

‘All I’m saying is, people tend to think the worst. And when they don’t understand something, they’re afraid. They tell stories to make sense of it.’

There would be better stories to tell, Aurora thought. If she could do nothing else in Perceforest, she would do that.

* * *

‘They were so nice,’ Aurora said.

It was a familiar walk, across the plains under the late summer sun towards the Moors. She was becoming almost fond of it. She kept her arm through Diaval’s.

‘Do you think it would be alright if I invited them to the coronation?’

‘It’s your coronation, you can ask who you like.’ Diaval glanced at the anxious, eager face. ‘But I would definitely ask Maleficent first.’

She nodded. ‘Oh, and Sir Angus! He’s been so kind.’

Diaval hesitated. ‘If you do, you might want to let him know that he can bring a guest.’ The words were met by an enquiring look. ‘I understand that he has a … lady friend.’

Aurora clasped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide. ‘Really?’ She tried to imagine Sir Angus in a romantic setting with anyone and failed utterly. ‘I wonder who she is... Do you know? What’s she like?’

He laughed, affectionately, at her enthusiasm. ‘I don’t know. It’s just what I’ve heard. But if you invite them, we might get to find out.’

‘Oh, then I definitely will,’ Aurora said, seemingly more excited about that than the actual coronation.

They walked on companionably.

‘Did you know that it’s called Perceforest because back in the year dot some fellow purged the forest of evil spirits?’

‘Is that what you were reading in your book?’

‘It was.’

Aurora grimaced. ‘And by evil spirits, do they mean fair folk?’

‘Well, yes... But what came after that was a society based on chivalry. Apparently. All the finest knights were called to form a council; everyone had an equal say and all decisions were made by consensus.’

Hazy heat shimmered across the grasslands, butterflies pirouetting about them as they walked. A deep blue sky streaked with high cloud and the air heavy with the scents of wildflowers and fresh grass.

‘It sounds like Camelot,’ she said, and it was a lovely thought that, for a moment, masked the sterile reality.

‘It was the inspiration for it. According to the book.’

Aurora stopped. ‘Really?’

‘Nice idea, isn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ she said softly. They started walking again. ‘Yes, it is.’

* * *

Their lives had fallen into a rhythm.

While Diaval escorted Aurora to the castle and watched over her, Maleficent became reacquainted with the Moors in the role of Guardian once more. She concentrated on healing the lands, on finding the places that had been ignored for too long while she had been lost in her anger.

And she gloried in her precious wings, nurturing them, finding herself able to fly a little further each day, her body adjusting again to the weight and the wonder of them.

Evenings were spent together, usually at the palace on the Moors, where Aurora would recount her day, trying to make sense of this human world that she had inherited.

Maleficent could offer her little counsel. Her instinct was to shield Aurora from all of it, to keep her from ever returning and let the world of men work out their own problems. But she had realised - _Diaval had told her -_ that this world was Aurora’s just as much as the Moors. And she needed someone to listen; she received advice and counsel all day long.

The sultry heat of the day had resolved itself into an evening of velvety blue, soft shadow and a sweetness on the warm air that held the promise of rain.

They sat on the mossy bank by the stream that wound past the spreading cherry tree. Maleficent preened her great wings, sparing the occasional affectionate glance at Aurora, flat on her back and gazing up at the stars.

‘Phillip says-’

Diaval ventured a look at Maleficent and bit back a smile at the taut lines of the fairy’s face. If she heard one more sentence that began with _Phillip says_... he was quite sure that when the unfortunate prince returned from Ulstead he would find himself transformed into a toad or a newt. If he were lucky...

‘Phillip says that the shipping fleet from Ulstead use the stars to navigate by at night. He knows the names of all the constellations.’

‘I bet he doesn’t know Cosán na Ndeor,’ Diaval said.

Rolling onto her side, Aurora pushed herself up on one arm. ‘I haven’t heard that one. What is it?’

‘The Path of Tears.’ He moved across to her, sat cross-legged beside her on the mossy earth and directed her gaze up at the stars. ‘You see that big bright star up there?’

Like Aurora, Maleficent looked up at the brilliant firmament, her fingers still running idly through her long primaries.

‘If you look carefully,’ Diaval continued, ‘you can see it’s actually two stars so close together they’re touching.’

Aurora screwed her eyes half-shut, squinting up. ‘Oh yes! I see!’

‘Now, you see that line of little stars leading up to them? That’s the Path of Tears.’ He sat back. ‘You remember me telling you about Fechín and Réalta?’

‘Yes!’ Aurora sat up to face him, her eyes gleaming.

‘Well, they lived a long time. They raised many hatchlings and their children flew to all the lands over the earth. But after many, many seasons, Réalta passed from the bounds of life and her spirit returned to the heavens where she’d come from so long before and she became again a star.

But Fechín was broken-hearted and he could not live in a world where she was not, for he had sworn himself to her for all his days. And so he followed her. High he flew, high up beyond the highest peak of the highest mountain and then higher still. Up above the clouds and then up again. And as he flew, he wept in his grief and his tears froze and became the stars that marked his path back to his beloved.

It was night then and all the stars blazed, but none so bright as the star that was Réalta. She heard Fechín calling to her out there in the cold and she tried to warm him with her light.

The Moon, who had risen in her fullness, saw them and she took pity on the poor frozen raven and the beautiful star. She took Fechín in her hands and in her grasp his white bones shone and turned to light and he became a star and he took his place beside his mate, in the sky for eternity.’

Diaval looked up at the night sky.

‘Now, you see that ring of stars about them? When the bravest, noblest of ravens meet their end, the true sons and daughters of Fechín, they’re invited to join his unkindness and there they are, a ring around Fechín and Réalta, watching over us all.’

His head was tilted up, staring at the stars that held the souls of his ancestors, the best of all his kind, and there was such a longing in his face that Aurora felt a sudden fear. She threw her arms around his neck, almost pushing him over.

‘He can’t have you,’ she said, her voice strained, struggling against the painful thickness in her throat. ‘Not yet. Not ever.’

He rubbed her back, brows knitting together. ‘Is that what you took from it? It’s meant to be a love story - they’re together forever, after all.’

It did not have the intended effect. Somehow his words only served to make Aurora weep harder. Bewildered, Diaval held the trembling figure to him, looked over her head at Maleficent with a question in his eyes.

There was a strange stillness in her face; her fingers had stopped combing through her feathers and the blaze of her gold eyes was clear and fierce.

It was, he was sure, a trick of the shadow and moonlight across her alabaster skin; but, for a moment, it looked like tears on her cheek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The stories of Perceforest were influenced by the works of Geoffrey of Monmouth (amongst others) and his 'Historia Regum Britanniae'; the stories have become, loosely, part of the Arthurian canon,


	22. Harmony

The crown had barely touched the blonde curls, no time at all to even admire herself in it, when-

‘What are you doing?’

Thistlewit started guiltily, snatched the gleaming circlet from her head, her cheeks flushing.

Maleficent regarded the unexpectedly human-sized pixie coldly, her wings twitching.

The green pixie kept her chin high, attempting to stare Maleficent down - and failing utterly. ‘I haven’t done anything wrong,’ she muttered. ‘I was just trying it on.’

The crown had been wrought from gold mined by the fairies from the northern mountains. A gruff, taciturn race, they had precious little time for what they deemed to be their more frivolous cousins on the lowlands; but they welcomed their new queen and were proud to send their tribute of gold that had been shaped into a crown of such exquisite delicacy, the one that Diaval had carried all the way back to the Moorland palace.

Sullen she may have been under Maleficent’s accusing eyes, but Thistlewit still held it carefully in her hands.

Magisterial, somehow able to fill this wide gallery high in the Moorland palace without even really trying, Maleficent took a few steps forward, her green-gold gaze sharpening. ‘It is not a toy. It is a crown for a queen. For Aurora.’

‘I know!’ Frustration and a certain resentment spiked. She was happy that she and her sisters were to present Aurora with her crown, but it was on sufferance, with Maleficent’s condescension, as though they had played no real part in Aurora’s life. As though they hadn’t worried and watched and done their best. ‘We love Aurora too, you know!’

Maleficent took a deep breath through her nose and-

‘Of course you do.’ Diaval, arriving in time to hear the tail end of the conversation, keeping his tone light and pleasant and sending a warning smile in Maleficent’s direction, placed himself between the pair. ‘We’ll be starting soon. You might want to join the others.’

Thistlewit edged her way towards the arched portico, depositing a final, wary glance at Maleficent, before turning her attention fully to the man-shaped raven. She ducked her head slightly, looking up at him from beneath lowered lashes. ‘Hello, Diaval. You look very fine in those clothes. I like your feathers.’

They rimmed the collar of his velvet coat, black shot through with iridescent green - an amplification of his own glorious plumage.

He smiled tightly. ‘Thanks.’

Something like a growl reverberated around the room and Thistlewit, abandoning her flirtation, made a hasty exit.

Diaval watched her departing form with a combination of bemusement and cynicism. For Aurora’s sake they had all made their peace; butthe years of neglect, however inadvertent, were not something to be forgotten so soon.

He turned to Maleficent and found her wearing a closed-off, considering expression. ‘Thistlewit by name-’

‘Half-wit by nature,’ she finished, her lips clamping shut after the words.

Diaval’s laughter caught in his throat, a hoarse cawing sound. Maleficent’s pranks could be unnecessarily petty at times, but her mordant sense of humour appealed to his raven sensibilities. He took a breath. Took another and words he had meant to say trickled out of his mind as he looked at her. ‘I, uh...’

They had been in one another’s company less of late, after all these years. He had been aware, of course, of the changes wrought in her: of the smile that came more readily; the softening of her edges; the lightness that had always been there now filling her, touching everything around her. But now he really looked at her, the way she glowed, her face radiant with a steady contentment, the fall of her silken hair, the softly fluttering draperies in the same shades as her glorious wings. Something almost serene in her, untouchable. She was so fine, so very beautiful and he was struck again with awe that she had given so much of her time to him. Shared her nest with him. Given him as much of her affection as she was able when he knew that she had thought that she had none to give. The greatest of all the Fae and he was just a raven. Beautiful, of course, and clever, but a common raven, after all. And the tribute he had brought no longer seemed such a good idea. She did not need adornments. She did not need anything that he could give her.

For her part, Maleficent agreed with Thistlewit’s assessment: Diaval did indeed look very fine in the soft black velvet with its cowl of feathers that she had created for him. It suited him, was worthy of him. Somehow, inexplicably, it was extraordinarily irritating that Thistlewit, with her pretty face and bouncing golden curls, should have noticed.

There was a look in his face that she could not name and something that he was clearly trying to hide behind the folds of his coat. ‘What is that?’

‘Nothing!’

Her lips pursing very slightly, she tilted her head back. ‘So, you have no gift for me?’

His eyes darted to hers then dropped, pinkness creeping across his cheeks until it tinged even the tips of his ears. His feet shuffled.

‘It’s nothing, Mistress.’

And she gave herself a mental kicking. He always brought her fine gifts, but that didn’t mean that she _expected_ anything. She had meant to sound playful, teasing.

Reluctantly, Diaval brought both of his hands together in a gesture of supplication, fine ribbons of gold lying between them. ‘There was gold left over - when I went to the mountains. I asked them to make this...’

A simple diadem, the two ends curved to fit snugly around something. Like a pair of horns. At the centre was a bird’s skull, the tip of the beak gilded like she had the talons on the joins of her wings.

She looked at it for a long moment, the rise and fall of her breast her only movement. ‘You had this made for me.’

He thought of the gleaming jewels in the castle that Aurora had instructed Sir Angus to sell. But even the finest stones did not shine as brightly as Maleficent; there was nothing to match her brilliance.

Maleficent took the few steps that would close the distance between them. ‘It’s lovely,’ she said softly, a catch in her voice. She lowered her head.

Diaval stared at her. When imagining her accepting his gift (if she accepted it at all), he had assumed that she would take it from his hands, fix it about her head herself. He had not thought that she would stand before him, waiting for him to bestow it upon her. There was a tremor in his fingers as he twined the gold threads around the smooth curve of her horns, her hair so soft and silken against his fingers. He settled the raven’s skull against her forehead and she raised her head, her eyes unexpectedly soft and warm.

‘Thank you.’

He swallowed hard, the fine velvet suddenly hot and constricting. ‘At least it fits,’ he croaked.

And something like her habitual irritation flared across her face and he felt more certain of that. ‘Not that,’ she said. ‘Well, yes, thank you for that, but...’

They looked at one another. And it was Maleficent who swallowed hard against something in her throat.

‘You have a feather out of place.’ She raised a hand and for a moment it hovered near his face, as though about to run across his hair. And then she dropped it, smoothing the unruffled feathers that curved across his shoulder. ‘Thank you. True Son of Fechín.’

He caught his breath, black eyes blinking at her. She was still fiddling with the feathers on his jacket.

‘But Aurora is right.’ She took a step back, her hands falling to her sides. ‘He can’t have you.’

A lopsided smile was almost more than he could manage. ‘Is it Fechín himself you’d fight for my sake?’

‘It is.’ Her head lifted. ‘But I’m assuming that you will do nothing so foolhardy or reckless that will make that necessary.’

‘Well, I can’t _promise_...’ Teasing, but not without its truth considering recent history. Everything about her stiffened, spiking. ‘Nothing unnecessary,’ he added hastily. But he would risk everything in defence of what he loved. She knew that. She had to know that. ’That, I do promise.’

Maleficent nodded once, accepting this vow on this day of promises and new beginnings. And then took another step back from him, her eyes appraising. ‘You’re missing something.’

He made a show of looking down at himself. ‘I have my charm and my wit - what else is there?’

She ignored that, crossing instead to one of the apertures and located a dead twig caught among the softly clinging vines that snaked their way around the window. In her hand it lengthened, the dry wood darkening to a matte black, its head twisting itself into a new form. Maleficent presented the staff to him; he took it, trying to hide his surprise, and concentrated instead on the raven head that topped it.

‘Is that supposed to be me?’

She rolled her eyes. ‘Come on.’

Diaval sniggered slightly and then caught her up. ‘Mistress...’

At the threshold, she stopped and he offered her his arm with a courtly bow.

Hesitation, and then her hand came to rest lightly in the crook of his arm.

* * *

He had arrived at the coronation far later than he had intended - matters in Ulstead (his mother) detaining him for longer than he had wanted. If he had been feeling uncharitable, Phillip might have accused Queen Ingrith of trying deliberately to prevent his going. But she was his mother, and he could not be uncharitable.

He arrived in time to see Aurora crowned with a gold that matched the soft hue of her gown and the radiance of her smile. No grand jewels, no ranks of guards, no army of servants, but she was still every inch a queen. Surrounded by her people, Aurora, Queen of the Moors, looked utterly content, complete, in a way that he had never really felt.

The Moors had dressed themselves in splendour, every tree dripping in blossom, each flower blooming exuberantly. And every fairy, sprite and-

And _things._

Moorfolk, he reminded himself. Moorfolk. He still wasn’t certain what most of them actually _were_. He was somewhat relieved to find that he was not the only human at the festivities.

Standing slightly to one side throughout had been Captain Lennox and his family. It was a great honour to be invited, he knew, but the soldier would have been lying if he had said he had not felt trepidation crossing the tree line that marked the end of Perceforest and the beginning of the Moors. He had looked about uneasily as they had been guided through by Diaval (he had never been so glad to see a shapeshifting man-raven in his life, which was not a sentiment he ever thought he would have).

If the same trepidation had been shared by Sir Angus, he did not show it. It was very evidently not felt by Sir Angus’ guest. Lady Fiona Glenross had been delighted from the start and it had only been Sir Angus’ arm firmly through hers that had stopped her from plunging joyously into the undergrowth to investigate her new surroundings. A slender, elegant woman with sparkling green eyes, dark hair and a wide, humorous mouth much given to slightly crooked smiles, Lady Glenross was determined to enjoy every second of her time on the Moors.

‘She isn’t what I was expecting,’ Aurora confided to Diaval. She had pictured someone rather grand and aloof and was delighted to find the opposite. ‘Sir Angus says that she’s an _artist_.’ She pronounced the last word with something like awe.

‘She’s a very good one,’ Phillip confirmed, talking through a mouthful of sweet, smoky honey. ‘My father commissioned her to paint a portrait of my mother.’

It was an acclaimed portrait, one that captured Ingrith’s beauty and charisma. Phillip had always felt rather uneasy looking at it; it seemed that something else had been captured that he couldn’t quite name and wasn’t sure he wanted to. He pulled away from those thoughts, directedeverything back to Aurora. She was staring upwards, laughing delightedly.

Lady Glenross, having accepted an offer from Balthazar, was being held high above the ground and being treated to a dizzying panoramic view of the Moors.

On the ground, gazing up, Sir Angus seemed more exasperated than alarmed and when the lady was deposited back to earth, sliding neatly down one of Balthazar’s sinewy vines, he stared at her with a feigned disapproval almost entirely overcome by amusement.

Oblivious to this and with her hair coming loose from its combs, she turned her great eyes to his face. ‘Oh, Angus, you should see the view! It’s extraordinary!’

A booming grunt sounded from above; Sir Angus squinted upwards at the gnarled head that was tilted slightly to one side, the spiky fingersthat were extended and appeared to be offering him the same treatment. ‘Thank you, no,’ he replied politely.

For Aurora, it was bliss. All of her favourite people here in her favourite place. She found Phillip gazing at her and smiled. ‘I’m so glad you’re here.’

‘Are you?’

Her smile widened. ‘Of course!’

He felt unaccountably nervous, the palms of his hands suddenly clammy and the collar of his shirt felt as though it had shrunk. ‘I- That is, my father... King John. Of Ulstead. He sent you a gift.’

‘Oh?’

‘For your coronation.’

‘That’s so kind of him.’

‘It’s what usually happens,’ he said, and then considered the statement and realised that it was probably not the most flattering thing to tell someone on her coronation day. That she was just like everyone else. And Aurora was like no one else he had ever met.

‘It’s in my saddle-bag. It’s a quill set,’ he said it quickly. ‘We- He- We didn’t really know what to give you. The Moors isn’t really like any other kingdom and most of the usual gifts you probably wouldn’t have use for, but... Well, you’ll probably have to write proclamations or ... or letters. I thought. Maybe.’

A flush stole up her cheeks, staining her pale skin. ‘I’ll use it to write and thank him,’ she said softly. Her gaze dropped from his. She fiddled with the edge of one sleeve, rolling the fabric between her fingers. ‘I could also write to you.’

His breath seemed to come out all in a rush. ‘I’d like that!’

They hovered beside one another for some time, until Aurora’s attention was caught by a figure investigating the colourful flowers growing on the banks of the stream. She winced faintly and Phillip was all concern.

‘What? What is it?’

‘I should probably warn Sìne about the wallerbogs.’

It was too late. A muffled shriek pierced the air. Sìne, her long hair twisted and braided into an elaborate style, was mortified to find herself the unwilling recipient of a large quantity of mud.

Aurora started to run towards her, looking about wildly for a sensible head to help with the situation. ‘Diaval...’

Diaval was already taking the situation in hand: crouched by Coinneach, his guiding hands resting lightly on the boy’s shoulders, he directed the boy in flinging a ball of mud at the offending wallerbog.

His aim was impressive, especially when it was his first time trying out this particular sport. But it was not a perfect aim and some of the wet mud splattered across Knotgrass’ skirts. Naturally, her pixie sisters were on hand to back her up in her retaliation.

A little further up the bank, Catrìona Lennox watched the descent of the fairy court into happy chaos with bemusement. Even the famed, feared Maleficent, she noted, was watching it unfold benevolently. ‘And this is what everyone’s been so terrified of all these years.’ She shook her head.

Her husband laughed slightly. ‘Aye. No wonder the lassie doesn’t want to leave it.’

Shrieks and laughter rose on the warm, scented air. Aurora, any pretence of dignity long forgotten, joined Sìne and Coinneach in repelling the wallerbogs, sprites and fairies dancing about their heads.

Phillip had held back from joining them. Not out of pride or snobbery but simply because he wanted to watch Aurora’s happiness. That, and the fact that he had realised something that had been working its way through him since his first visit to the Moors. For all its strangeness and wildness and unpredictability, he felt at home in this place.

He felt content.

* * *

Fiona Glenross finished the sketch she had made. Rough, the mistakes and false starts still visible, but she felt it had captured something and so she was pleased with it. She leaned back, turned her face up to the sun and its warm, welcoming rays. And then looked at the figure sprawled beside her. Hands behind his head, his eyes closed, he looked almost asleep.

‘See? You can do it.’

Sir Angus stirred slightly. ‘What?’

‘Relax. I’ve never actually seen it happen before.’

He let out a long breath down his nose. ‘That is a shocking exaggeration.’

The grass between her fingers was soft and sweet-scented. Everything about them seemed heightened, nudged into something slightly more intense, more vivid. It was intoxicating; it appealed to her artistic sensibilities.

And she was not the only one, she thought, watching a couple wandering together across the opposite bank - the young prince looked slightly as though he were walking through a dream and dearly hoping that no-one would wake him.

‘Will she marry him, do you think?’

A grumble emerged from beside her, and a yawn. ‘Who?’

‘Aurora. Will she marry Phillip.’

‘They’re very young.’

‘Not everyone waits until middle-age to embark on matrimony.’

‘Oh, come on. You’re not middle aged.’

Her green eyes blazed and she struck him smartly on one shoulder. He laughed lightly in response.

‘It’s a good match,’ she declared some moments later. ‘I imagine King John would approve. Though I doubt Queen Ingrith will.’

‘Oh?’ He didn’t sound particularly interested. He could be truly exasperating, she thought.

‘You know what she’s like.’

Half-closed grey eyes watched her slyly and then kindled with amusement. ‘I’ve always found her quite charming.’

Fiona sat up. She sniffed. ‘Oh, have you? Well, I wish you joy of her, Lord Chancellor.’

He caught hold of her wrist, pulling her down again and she let out a yelp amidst a breath of laughter. ‘Angus! We are in public.’

‘I know. I don’t seem to care.’

Her mouth curled in the crooked smile that he loved so well. ‘We should come to the Moors more often, then.’

He considered this seriously. ‘That might be dangerous.’

‘Spoilsport.’

* * *

The celebrations continued.

Maleficent was happy that Aurora was so happy, was glad that their human guests - even if she had been wary in the extreme about their presence - had been so enamoured of the Moors, so willing to be a part of the strange, wondrous, beautiful life that filled it. The dark-haired woman, Lady Glenross, had given Aurora a sketch that she had made of the three of them, what she called a family portrait.

It could have been called whimsical but it was far too striking for that. Maleficent’s wings became, one one side, the feathers in Diaval’s hair and on the other curved around to become the detailing of Aurora’s dress. The artist had captured something of the essence of each with her pencil strokes: Aurora’s irrepressible happiness; the kindness mingling with mischief in Diaval’s bright, black eyes; and Maleficent-

It was strange, to see this version of herself that someone else saw. She would have expected a human to render her as a monster, something wicked and corrupted. The face she saw held warmth and humour. Something a little imperious in the angle of the head (and she made no apology for that) but there was a playfulness in the faint curl of the lips.

Aurora had expressed her gratitude with a bone-crushing hug that left Fiona Glenross breathless, and had immediately declared that she would display it in the palace. Maleficent had inclined her head graciously and offered a smile more notable for its tightness than its warmth. It concealed, or rather it held in, a swirl of emotions that Maleficent feared would get the better of her.

The days spent watching Aurora from afar had seemed as close to happiness as she would get and she had been resigned to that for a long time. But this was so much more. It felt almost too much.

Maleficent removed herself from the crowd, her wings taking her upwards, Diaval pirouetting about her head. She had not thought to take him away from the festivities that he was so clearly enjoying, but then he had been there, moving with her as she had started to move away and had followed her when she changed him.

He stood at her side on the outcropping above the palace and they looked across the Moors, the lands that held all of the things that she loved so well. Calm. A deep, quiet contentment. As a child she had fashioned dolls for herself, giving them wings and making them dance through the air, imagining someone who would ride the currents, remain with her no matter what. They did not speak but she felt him beside her, felt the steady gaze fall on her now and then. When she turned to him there was a faint question in his eyes and all his reserves of patience and kindness in their depths.

She spread her wings and smiled. ‘Let’s fly.’


	23. Camelot

Aurora paced, apprehension driving her from one side of the room to the other and then back again. Her fingers twisted together, the scar from the spindle’s prick aching the way it always did whenever she was in the castle. As though the curse were still there, waiting for her, wanting to ensnare her once more.

‘You’ll make a permanent path in that carpet,’ Diaval told her. He watched her with sympathy. She carried so much on her slender shoulders and she took it all so very seriously. It had been weeks before she had told them, finally, her intentions - when asked she had just said that she was thinking it over.

_‘She’s thinking things over,’ he said, incredulity colouring his words._

_‘I heard,’ Maleficent replied, a ghost of a smile at the corners of her mouth._

_‘Anyone would think that she was fully fledged.’_

_‘They might_ think _that.’_

_Aurora laughed, rolling her eyes. ‘Stop it! I have to learn to make my own decisions; what sort of queen will I be if I can’t do that?’_

Maleficent’s pride in her was fierce, a blaze of protective love. Diaval felt it no less keenly but in this, as in everything, the strength of his love was in its gentleness, its quietness. Immutable.

She paused in her wandering. ‘What if they don’t like it?’

‘Then...’ He shrugged easily. ‘They can lump it.’

Aurora laughed, spikes of tension across her shoulders easing. ‘You’re supposed to be the diplomatic one.’

Diaval sat forward, very aware of the constricting nature of his new, grand coat with its high collar that felt uncomfortably close about his throat. He had seen Phillip wearing something of a similar style and wondered how the boy stood it. Leather, velvet and feathers (of course), and to the casual observer they were simply human clothes on a human man; to anyone who looked closer, the decorative feathers against the austere black only enhanced his inhuman nature, signalling his innate raven qualities far more than his usual attire.

But they also enhanced his human form’s beauty, which he appreciated very much. He was prepared to put up with discomfort for the sake of beauty - especially when it was his own.

‘You’re a human,’ he said earnestly, ‘you were born into this world, but it doesn’t mean that you owe them anything. If they don’t like this solution, they can come up with something themselves; but they can’t make you do anything that you don’t want to do.’

She sighed, something wistful tugging at the corners of her mouth. ‘You make it sound so simple.’

His head tilted. ‘Simple things aren’t always easy things. I never said that.’

‘I suppose not.’ She tilted her head back, pulling air into her lungs that didn’t seem to go all of the way down. She scratched at her finger. ‘What is taking so long?’

‘You’re going to worry yourself sick,’ he said severely. ‘And for what? It’s not like you’re trying to strike a bargain with the King of the Dead.’

Taken aback by the unexpectedly macabre statement, Aurora stopped her pacing and then her lips twitched. ‘I sense a story coming on.’

He spread his hands. ‘It’s not like you’ve got anything else to do this minute.’

‘All right.’ She sat beside him, fingers lacing together in her lap. ‘What happened with the King of the Dead?’

Diaval leaned back. ‘This is a story from the Old Country, going back all the way to when wizards and magical folk of all manner walked the lands and magic was bound into everything. But they were also dark times, when the Tuath Dé were retreating to the Otherworld. Invaders from across the waters had come and they feared the magic they found and the creatures they associated with it. And among the creatures they feared, were the ravens.

Many an unkindness was slaughtered, until the earth was soaked with the blood of the children of Fechín and for those that remained, food was scarce.

But at this time, there was a raven by the name of Bran. The blackest of feathers, had he, and the sharpest of eyes. He was the leader of his unkindness and he would not see his kin fall under the blades of the strangers to their shores and neither would he let them starve to death. So, he led his unkindness away from the waters and they followed him deep into the West until they reached the kingdom of Finn Bheara.

He was the son of An Dagda, who was the all-father, the god-king of the Tuath Dé and An Dagda had made Finn Bheara King of the Aes Sídhe - and he was also King of the Dead. He had his realm beneath the mounds and hills but he often walked the lands and hunted there, for Finn Bheara was a great lover of sport.

For three days and three nights, Bran flew through the forests until he saw what he was looking for and then he came to rest in one of the hawthorn trees that circled the mound where Finn Bheara had his home. As dawn broke, he called out to the king to bring out the riders of the hunt and he would show them where they could find good game. Silence there was, and then the earth shook until the hill split open and out rode the hunt. They shone brighter than the sun, all in silver and gold and at their head was Finn Bheara himself in his cloak as black as a raven’s wing and with his silver crown of antlers on his head.

Bran took wing and the hunt followed him through the woods and he led them to a great stag. Finn Bheara himself it was that brought the beast down and he allowed Bran’s unkindness to feed their fill from the spoils as a mark of gratitude. But the king was no fool and he knew that the raven would not have gone to so much trouble just for one meal.

“What does one such as yourself desire from the King of the Aes Sídhe?” asks he.

So Bran told him of the persecution of his kind and he pleaded for the protection of the mighty king; they had mourned so many of their kind that ravens would forever associate themselves with the dead as it was.

Finn Bheara was a wise king and a just one, but he was also a cunning one and he would always care for the interests of his own people first, as any king should. He knew the cleverness and the loyalty of a raven and so he agreed to Bran’s request: raven-kind would forever more be under the protection of the King of the Dead and they would feast on the dead and never again want for food. But Bran himself must return with Finn Bheara to his kingdom beneath the hills and be guide and advisor to the king and forgo his place in Fechín’s Circle in the heavens.

Bran agreed to these terms, and flew up and took his place on Finn Bheara’s shoulder and went back down with him beneath the earth. And his mate, Áinfean, and all of his unkindness swore an oath, binding themselves and all their sons and daughters, that when Bran called for them they would join him under the hills.’

There was silence, save for the faint creak of wood and muffled sounds of life from the rooms far beyond them.

Aurora’s gaze was solemn, pensive. Diaval offered her a faintly rueful smile. ‘Sure and that probably wasn’t after being the best story at the moment.’ She laughed, laid her cheek on his shoulder and he shook his head. ‘Humans... You cry at the love stories and laugh at the serious ones.’

She giggled, sitting up again to face him. ‘It must be the way you tell them.’

He was affronted, regarding her with a wounded dignity that did not match the snap and sparkle of mischief in his deep black eyes. ‘I am a very talented storyteller - even by raven standards.’

‘You should write them down- They could be a book. It could be illustrated with pictures of all of the raven heroes!’

His face creased. ‘I’m no great one with a pencil.’

‘Lady Glenross could do it,’ she said, undeterred. ‘It would be like the picture books you used to help me study from - do you remember?’

Her face glowed, memory of a time when life had seemed so simple and her most difficult problem had been trying to grapple with addition and subtraction and her Pretty Bird had always been there, cawing encouragements down her ear and then letting her chase him through the glades beyond the cottage, his tail feathers always just beyond the grasp of her reaching fingers.

‘Of course I remember.’ He tucked a loose tendril of hair behind her ear, the same gesture of affection that Maleficent used with her. She caught hold of his hand and pressed her lips against it.

When the door pushed open and Sir Angus entered, he found the pair sitting companionably; Aurora’s features were set with a quiet determination.

‘It’s time,’ he said.

* * *

The throne room of the Perceforest castle had been stripped of much of its grandeur and the colours and insignia of King Stefan’s disastrous reign had been removed in their entirety. The thrones still stood on their dais before the window but without their canopy and heraldic flags, they seemed more like oddly shaped chairs than seats of power.

Lazy dust motes floated in the shafts of sunlight piercing the space. The large table that had been placed in the centre of the room seemed strangely out of place, something that appeared more suited to a banqueting hall than a throne room. Men shifted uneasily in their seats, exchanging wary looks, and when the doors were flung open, they all turned expecting a fanfare of trumpets and pages lining the passage of a monarch.

There were no trumpets, no pages, just a girl in a rose silk dress with flowers in her hair, a black-haired man whose quick, nimble gait seemed oddly like a bird’s, and Sir Angus McLeish who was wearing (to those who knew him) a worryingly mild expression.

Aurora pushed down the constricted feeling that rose in her chest as she walked towards that long table and the dozens of eyes that were fixed on her. She longed for Maleficent’s stature, for her burning gaze that could quell any man- Except for Diaval. He was unquellable. And he was at her side. Aurora kept her head high and walked steadily to one of the empty seats.

She sat, and the company followed. She had had no idea that a group of people sitting down all at once could be such a noisy affair. The sounds of wood scraping against stone, boots stamping the ground, metal clashing with metal, throats clearing, low muttering, they all formed a wall as heavy and impenetrable as the stone that enclosed them. And then it stopped and Aurora’s ears rang in the ensuing silence, her own beating heart impossibly loud.

She cleared her throat.

They looked at her.

They all looked so much older than her, so much more experienced. Even the young ones.

She pulled a breath into lungs that didn’t seem to want to take it, that wheezed pitifully with the sudden ingress of air.

‘Gentlemen-’

Aurora cleared her throat and tried again.

‘Gentlemen.’ Better. Less croaky. Less like a banshee with a sore throat. She’d been listening to too many of her father’s stories...

‘I’ve had a long time to think about what I wanted to say and it’s quite simple, really. I will not be Queen of Perceforest.’

Beside her, Sir Angus maintained an expression of polite diffidence. He did not quite feel diffident. He would have preferred more of a preamble, something a little more diplomatic. He ventured a glance about the table: they were all staring at Aurora with expressions that ranged from the startled to the dumbfounded. Their uncertainty seemed to give her more strength, her words finding more purpose.

‘There will not be a queen or a king. I am the Queen of the Moors - that is my home; it is where I belong. But Perceforest will be ruled by its people. This castle, and everything in it, will be handed over to them. That is why you have been asked to come here today, because between you, you represent all the people of Perceforest - the soldiers, the farmers, the nobles, the craftsmen, the merchants. You are not just a council, you are a... a...’

‘Parliament,’ Sir Angus supplied softly.

‘Yes! Thank you.’ She bestowed on him one of her most glittering smiles. ‘A parliament. All of the powers to rule will lie with you, but you will be answerable to the people.’

Silence.

Creaks as men shifted in their chairs.

‘If any of you don’t like it, you are free to leave.’ Sir Angus spoke cordially; his eyes were steely. But no-one moved and he released a breath; he had made his selection wisely.

Aurora looked at them all again and, somehow, they didn’t look quite as grim as she had first imagined. They seemed almost friendly. Quite nice, really. ‘You are the ministers of state and you are all equals here, but there will be a...’ Her lessons under the birch trees came back to her; then, just as now, Diaval at her side. ‘There will be a _primes inter pares_ \- the first among equals, the First Minister of State. For now, I believe that should be Sir Angus. If you all agree to that?’

Murmurs of assent ran around the table.

Aurora felt some of the tension leave her shoulders and when Sir Angus stood and bowed to her she inclined her head graciously and sat down with an immense feeling of relief. Lightheaded, as though her limbs were suddenly weightless. Under the table she groped for Diaval’s hand; he caught her wandering fingers in his and held them.

‘Aurora will not be queen, but she will be the head of state.’ As always, Sir Angus spoke softly but he did not need to raise his voice to command attention. ‘That is in name only. It will be a ceremonial role as Princess Royal - a figurehead to help fend off anyone who might take a fancy to putting themselves on the throne.’

From somewhere near the far end of the table, a hand went up. A man in his very best Sunday clothes and his face made ruddy by exposure to the elements. A farmer, uncertain as to his role in this place but slowly finding his voice. ‘And what about the Moors? What do they want from us?’

‘We don’t want anything,’ Aurora said quietly, and that quietness filled that vast hall. ‘The Moors and Perceforest are united through friendship. We have no wish to take your lands, and Perceforest will not invade the Moors. But we will help one another; we will learn from one another; and we will be kind to one another.’

Kindness. A virtue that had been in short supply in Perceforest for many years.

‘If you don’t mind me saying’ -the same man as before, his face tinged with pink at speaking out in the midst of such fine company- ‘that sounds too good to be true.’

Aurora nodded slowly. ‘Perhaps. But that’s no reason not to try.’

Sir Angus made a small noise in the back of his throat. ‘Someone to act as a liaison between Perceforest and the Moors would help with that. Someone who is well acquainted with both realms.’

He glanced at Aurora and her eyes glowed back at him. Her fingers still laced through Diaval’s, she turned back to the newly-formed parliament. ‘And the only person who can do that is here. Allow me to present Diaval, Lord of the Moors.’

Aurora smiled at him happily. Diaval returned her loving gaze with undisguised astonishment.

* * *

‘Thank goodness that’s over!’

‘Hardly over,’ Sir Angus commented drily. ‘There’s still a great deal to do. And there’s no guarantee they won’t be at each other’s throats in a week.’

Back in Sir Angus’ study with its comforting scents of beeswax, parchment and leather. Aurora flopped into one of the large armchairs, caught between exhaustion and exhilaration.

‘Oh, let her enjoy the moment!’ Fiona Glenross shook her gleaming dark head at him. ‘Besides, the hard work isn’t for her to worry about. That’s for you.’

‘Yes, I am aware of that, Fiona. Thanks for the reminder.’

She suppressed a smile. ‘You did very well,’ she told Aurora.

The girl straightened in her chair. ‘I didn’t know you were there.’

‘There’s a gallery running all the way around. Most people don’t bother looking up to see it, unless there’s a minstrel strumming a lute. A good spot to keep an eye on everything going on without being seen. And I wouldn’t have missed it.’ There was a softening in her features.

‘You must be so proud - with Sir Angus being First Minister.’

‘Oh, yes... There’s that.’ Fiona occupied herself with fixing non-existing strands back into her immaculately dressed hair.

Aurora decided that she did not comprehend relationships. Not the romantic ones at least. According to Sìne, Sir Angus and Lady Glenross had what she called ‘an understanding’ - yet they treated one another with a formality bordering on aloofness most of the time, bar a few unguarded moments. But that, at least, was more than Maleficent and Diaval.

They adored one another, she was certain of it. She could see it, _feel_ it, and no matter what Diaval told her about love having different forms she knew that his love for her godmother was romantic, absolute, unwavering. They were her parents; she wanted them to be happy. She wanted them to be happy _together._ And yet that possibility, somehow, seemed to get further and further away.

She pulled herself away from those thoughts, bringing herself back to this moment of peace and what they had achieved. Except for one thing.

‘Sir Angus.’

He turned to her, mild enquiry in his slim features.

‘Why are there no women in the parliament?’

His mouth opened. For a moment there were no words. ‘Well... Politics... It isn’t really a woman’s area.’

‘Oh.’ Aurora nodded. ‘Why not?’

Sitting beside Aurora, Fiona leaned back and enjoyed the disquiet spreading across the Chancellor’s - now First Minister’s - usually phlegmatic countenance.

‘It never has been.’ He cast an appealing glance at Diaval, who had been making free with a large platter of pastries that had been left out as refreshments. The younger man shrugged, spoke though a mouthful of crumbs.

‘Leave me out of this one.’ His voice was indistinct.

Aurora’s smooth brow creased fractionally. ‘But if you are all prepared to serve a queen, and she would be the only ruler, why can’t women be part of a parliament?’

‘Yes, why can’t they?’

Sir Angus turned an accusing gaze on Fiona and was met by a pair of challenging and unrepentant green eyes. ‘And you want to be in the parliament, I suppose.’

‘Me? I haven’t the slightest interest in it. But I dare say that there’s any number of women who would be - if they were given the option.’

He pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment, took in a long breath, released it. ‘Fine. We need more members of parliament anyway.’

‘See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?’ Fiona’s mouth twitched slightly as she spoke.

‘I-’ Sir Angus pressed his lips together, counted swiftly to what felt to be about a thousand and then poured himself a glass of sherry.

Aurora leaned towards Fiona, tucking her hand into the crook of her arm.‘There’s something I wanted to talk to you about...’

‘Unnerving, isn’t it?’

Diaval looked up from his latest comestible. ‘I think it’s just some sort of almond paste.’

Sir Angus laughed slightly. ‘No, I meant them.’ He inclined his head towards the pair- one brunette, one blonde - who were engaged in a low, earnest discussion.

‘That depends on what they’re talking about,’ Diaval said after a moment’s consideration.

And that, Sir Angus thought, was an irrefutable argument. And then he hesitated for a moment before deciding that he needed to say what he was about to for the sake of his own conscience.

‘Lord Diaval-’

A hand was waved. ‘I’m not really a lord. You can forget all that.’

‘You have been named as such by a queen. And it’s best to do these things properly.’

‘Well now, if you insist,’ Diaval said, almost before Sir Angus had finished. After all, it wasn’t as though he minded being referred to as such. It sound very well, after all.

Amusement coloured the Chancellor’s lean face for a moment. ’I just wanted to say...’ He let out a breath, met the dark, inquisitive gaze, and started again. ‘I just wanted to say that although Ulstead has been generous and friendly in its dealings so far, I would counsel a certain degree of wariness, if I were you.’

He wasn’t quite sure where the change occurred, but something had; the affable young man with those curious markings on his face suddenly seemed harder, wilder. Perhaps it was in those black eyes. They normally held a rather gentle expression, but there was a fire in them now, something deep down that was probably best left unstirred.

‘I don’t mean that there’s any threat. And Prince Phillip is, I believe, an honest, excellent young man and his father is a good and just king. I wouldn’t think for a second that either would wish you and your people any harm. But there are ... elements ... in Ulstead that are not very friendly towards Moorfolk and suchlike.’

‘Not everyone in Perceforest is, either,’ Diaval remarked.

‘No... But Perforest has many reasons to make this alliance work. Ulstead had always been a more martial place. All I’m saying is, be careful. I mean this as a friend.’

The dark gaze was thoughtful. Diaval nodded.

* * *

As they started on the by now familiar walk back towards the Moors, Diaval reflected that this would probably be one of the last times that they would make it together. There was a melancholy to that thought that he did not, at first, immediately understand. But he had come to value these moments, he realised, this time that was just theirs, like when she had been little more than a hatchling and he had helped her with her lessons in the shade of the birch trees by the cottage in the woods.

She was quiet as they walked, always noticeable in one normally so lively. Not her usual stream of bright chatter, but troubling thoughts that clouded her pretty face.

‘What’s wrong?’

Aurora shook herself and there was a lightening of her features. ‘Nothing. I was just hoping that Sìne won’t be disappointed.’

‘Why should she be?’

Aurora ran her hand over the waving tops of the long grasses, inhaling the warm scent released onto the air. ‘I think she was rather hoping to be taken on as my lady’s maid. You know - fixing my hair and things like that. She’s very good at it.’

Over the years he had seen such women, almost as grand as their mistresses; and on occasion trivial items that had been mislaid by those fine ladies had been presented as gifts to the child Aurora. It had always seemed strange to Diaval that human women should pay others to preen them when they had families of their own to perform that task, but there were many human ways that still seemed unfathomably alien to his raven mind.

‘Maybe she can offer her preening services to all the women of Perceforest. For a fee, mind.’

Aurora smiled indulgently. ‘I don’t think they call it preening.’

He shrugged. ‘Well, it’s all the same thing.’

‘Mm.’ She was thoughtful again. ‘I’ll tell her. It might be just the thing.’ She glanced at him sideways, a humorous smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. ‘She’ll be delighted it was your idea - she has a crush on you.’

‘Who?’

Aurora shook her head, exasperated. ‘Sìne!’

He was, immediately, horrified. ‘That child?!’

‘She isn’t a _child.’_

‘Sure she’s a hatchling!’

It was an affront. Aurora stopped, hands on her hips. ‘She’s the same age as me!’

‘Oh!’ His eyebrows climbed. ‘And you’re all grown up, is it?’

‘I am,’ she said, defiant. Was she not a queen? Had she not passed her sixteenth birthday (only just)?

‘Right. Well, we’ll be seeing about _that_.’ Diaval advanced on her. Aurora squealed as his quick fingers found every ticklish spot and he danced out of her way when she tried to retaliate. They chased one another happily, sending up clouds of butterflies as they ran through the long grass until Aurora, breathless and beads of perspiration running down her back, called a truce.

Diaval wheezed at her. Not quite as young as he once was, he reflected ruefully. Aurora pushed her hair back from her forehead and then set about brushing off the shoulders of his grand new coat.

‘It’s lucky that Godmother made you such fine clothes. Just the thing for an ambassador.’

‘Hm.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘And just how long were you planning that for?’

Aurora adopted an air of nonchalance. ‘Well… It does make _sense_ for there for to be someone to advise the new parliament, and there really isn’t anyone who knows the Moors _and_ Perceforest except for you.’

So many years watching from the shadows and all of the hidden places, his raven’s body well suited to the task. He would have to be a man, always, in the world of men.

‘I don’t know, Aurora… I’m not sure it’s the best idea.’

‘I am,’ she said. And her voice was soft and gentle and definite. ‘And so is Sir Angus. If the Moors and Perceforest are to be united, it will only work if they come to know and understand Moorfolk. And I want them to know _you_. The real you. Not some awful story.’

Some of the stories told about him made him laugh - others made him feel sick. But Aurora was really bothered by them, all of them, she was hurt by them. Even the most innocuous of them seemed to cause her pain. Diaval put his arm around her shoulders. If it would help her, he would do anything. Always. If it meant that the Moors and its people and his beautiful mistress would be spared suffering it would be worth any price that was asked. And there were some advantages to looking and talking as a man, when all was said and done. ’I’ve never heard of a raven ambassador,’ he said, thoughtful. ‘Although, I did once hear tell of a jackdaw that was made a saint.’

‘It’s good to be ambitious,’ she said, serious, and then squealed when he tickled her again. ‘I said truce!’

They walked on.

‘I can’t wait to see Maleficent’s face when you tell her what you’ve been after going and doing.’

Aurora twisted her fingers together, bestowing on him a doe-eyed look from under lowered lashes. ‘I was hoping that you’d tell her.’

‘Were you now?’ Diaval placed a tender arm around her. ‘Well, you see, you’re the queen now, so you are. Which means that you get to tell her.’

She flinched, her expression glum. ’Oh.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'I did once hear tell of a jackdaw that was made a saint' - this was inspired by 'The Jackdaw of Rheims'. The poem is part of _The Ingoldsby Legends_ , which were nineteenth century parodies of Medieval myth and song cycles, written by the clergyman Richard Barham


	24. Spring

Maleficent had thought that she remembered the glorious sensation of flight, ofthe strength of wings at her back, of cold air streaming across her body. And she had remembered, but not quite. It was more, so very much more.

Riding the thermals, then up through the clouds and the sun on her face, a blessing, before plunging towards the earth and knowing that her wings would support her, carry her as far as she wanted to go.

And always Diaval with her, tumbling through the air, looping about her, showing off all of his tricks. No matter how far or hard she flew he would match her, even when he must have been wing-sore and exhausted, his fragile body pushed beyond its limits, he was always with her. He had been her wings and then he had been so much more, everything and anything that she had ever needed; and now that she had her wings again he was still so much more. Unthinkable that his familiar black shape should not be on the edges of her vision as she flew, that he should not still be offering his advice and opinions and counsel (still unasked for, still given freely), that he should not still be hers.

Except for the days that he spent in Perceforest, of course.

Of which there had been many.

Those were the days that the Moorfolk had soon learned were best spent well out of her way.

She felt uneasy that he should be in the world of men, she would admit that: it was dangerous and he was not a warrior, nor did he have any magic of his own that he could use to defend himself with if he needed to. He told her, repeatedly, that he had no need but it did not make her feel any easier.

There was also another possibility, an ugly thought worming its way through her mind, that there just might be other reasons that took him to Perceforest so frequently. There were many human women who could be considered beautiful and they enhanced their beauty with fine clothes and jewels and powder and paint. And Diaval did so love beautiful things. He spent so long in his human form, it was not inconceivable that he should feel an attraction to-

To someone.

For reasons that she did not care to explore, Maleficent found that notion far more distressing than the idea that he could come to physical harm in that strange and often hostile world.

Her flight had taken her back to the outcropping beyond their cave and as she slowed, her great wings sweeping the air, she saw Diaval’s black-clad form lying back against a curved branch of the oak tree, one long leg hanging down negligently. He did not stir as she made her descent, his eyes fixed somewhere in the distance, their expression flat and glassy. Only when she called him did he blink, rouse himself, and slide down off his branch.

‘Mistress!’

Pleasure at seeing him warred with increased irritation that he should have been away to begin with.

‘You’re here,’ she said calmly, trying to keep the waspish bite out of her voice. ‘I thought you’d be ambassading all day.’

He forehead creased. ‘I don’t think that’s a word. Although, humans do have a lot of funny ones. Like pulchritudinous. That’s a funny word. It sounds like it should mean something awful, but it actually means beautiful. Y’know, like you are. Did you know that, Mistress?’

Like so many things about this ridiculous, exasperating bird, it drove her crazy that any irritation she felt with him dissipated as soon as he smiled at her in just that particular way. ‘It doesn’t surprise me that you know it,’ she replied, aware that they might just be talking about two different things at the same time.

He grinned at her. ‘I’ve got something for you.’

He moved past her, retrieving a small box from the smooth slab they used as a table and presenting it to her with a flourish. The woodwork was intricately carved and brightly painted. Maleficent viewed it with a curiosity that she tried to hide beneath an adopted air of suspicion. Diaval removed the lid and she was confronted with a nest of fine paper holding a number of glossy brown lumps that did not look entirely appealing.

There was a faint aroma, something not unpleasant.

‘Try one. They’re really good.’

Maleficent tilted her head back slightly, looking at him down her eyes. ‘This from the man whose professed favourite foodstuff is fresh mouse.’

‘This is human food,’ he said, exasperation nudging into his tone. ‘An envoy from somewhere far across the water brought it as part of a tribute. It’s called _chocolate._ ’ Almost reverential, the way he said it. ‘Same colour as your wings,’ he continued, thoughtful, ‘so it has to be good.’

There was a fluttering somewhere in her chest, a tightening. He really was ridiculous.

She took a small piece, holding it between her fingers and was surprised by its density.

‘Don’t bite it; just let it melt.’ He watched her expectantly and she rolled her eyes at the very idea of being told how to eat something at her stage in life. She had every intention of crunching through it just to annoy him but then the piece of this chocolate stuff touched her tongue and her eyes widened.

It was deep and dense and dark and sweet and there was a hint of bitterness. She held onto it. It filled her mouth, coating her tongue.

‘It’s good, isn’t it, Mistress?’

He must have tried it - of course he had, he was _Diaval_ , the hungriest raven known to Fae and beast - and he would taste of it, the thought taking hold unbidden, his mouth, his lips, would hold this same strange sweetness. There was actually a flake of it at the corner of his mouth, she realised.

‘You clearly enjoyed it,’ she murmured, and she could just _tell_ him, but she was standing so close to him and along with the aroma of the chocolate filling her head was his scent of feather and earth and pine.

With one finger she caught the smudge from his warm skin. He watched her, his round black eyes soft and there was a flare of something heated in their depths. She licked the sweet flake from her finger, savouring its taste, wholly aware of his gaze fixed on her lips.

‘Do- Do you want any more?’ His voice was a croak.

Want.

Want was something she had forsworn long ago, along with need and desire and all of the other feelings associated with the kind of relationship that had only led to unimaginable pain. But it seemed as though they had not entirely forsworn her and lately they had been making their presence known more forcibly.

She wouldn’t let them in. She couldn’t. Not again. She would not want anymore.

‘I think that’s more than enough for one day,’ she said, terse, the spell that had been weaving itself torn asunder.

He sighed slightly, shaking himself as though waking. ‘Right you are.’


	25. Summer

‘Ow!’ Aurora jerked her head. ‘Is it supposed to hurt?’

‘It is if you want to keep it all in place,’ Sìne told her through a mouthful of hairpins, jabbing another one ruthlessly into her friend’s head. ‘Keep still.’

‘I can’t believe people actually pay you to do this to them,’ Aurora commented, blinking back stinging tears as her hair was twisted at the roots into unnatural directions.

Sìne grinned. ‘You’d be amazed how many.’

The tower room in the castle at Perceforest that had once held a canopy bed, a rocking horse, and all the toys and trinkets designed to please a royal princess, was now the home to what Sìne Lennox termed her salon and where the ladies of Perceforest submitted to her less than tender mercies but emerged with their hair fashionably dressed.

‘I don’t want anything too elaborate,’ Aurora reminded her.

‘Don’t worry, just a garden’s worth of flowers, not a whole forest.’

Aurora stuck out her tongue at her, and the pair giggled at each other.

‘Will you pass me those ribbons, Magaidh?’

A maid of some sixteen years, Magaidh Lennox was Sìne’s younger sister and had been outraged that while she had been helping to care for an ailing aunt (practically indentured servitude, according to Magaidh), her parents and siblings had all become friends with the Queen of the Moors and all of her family and all of the Moorfolk and it simply _was not fair_ that she had been left out of it all.

As a result, any time that Sìne had visited Aurora, she had, reluctantly, brought Magaidh with her. Magaidh was delighted, still, that she could hold this distinction over all of her friends (they could all visit the Moors, but none of them were guests at the palace!) but - and she would have died rather than admit it - she didn’t see what all of the fuss was about, found the Moors a dead bore, and would much sooner have been at the market in Perceforest along with the rest of the girls her age, making eyes at the apprentices and the younger officers.

But she duly handed over the requested ribbons before slumping back into her chair and staring aimlessly out of the window.

‘There.’ Sìne stepped back, admiring her handiwork. ‘What do you think?’

Aurora admitted to a certain trepidation when she peered into the mirror, given the number of pins that were bristling in her hair and the time Sìne had taken over it all. Her fears were unfounded. Two thick, loose braids formed a coronet about her head and they were adorned with the fresh flowers that she loved so well. The rest fell in curls, interspersed with thin braids woven with the bright ribbons.

‘Oh, Sìne! It’s beautiful!’ She turned her head, admiring the effect and the friend’s skill.

‘For the queen who has everything,’ Sìne replied. ‘And you did say you didn’t want any birthday presents, so it’s all you’re getting.’

‘It’s perfect. Thank you.’

A light tap sounded at the door and then Diaval’s head appeared rather frame. He nodded, friendly, at Sìne and her sister. ‘Hello, girls.’

Magaidh responded with a noncommittal noise. Sìne smiled pleasantly and inclined her head. ‘Lord Diaval.’ Her nonchalant manner was only slightly undone by the burning crimson that flared across her cheeks. Diaval returned her a smile that held amusement and affection and then turned his attention to Aurora. ‘Aren’t you ready yet?’

Aurora lifted her chin. ‘Don’t I look ready?’

He entered fully, soft feathers winding around the shoulders of his black coat, the latest of the fine clothes that Maleficent liked to array him in. She would probably be wearing something of an equally inky blackness, no doubt adorned with bird skulls and feathers and Aurora wondered if her godmother actually realised that she was, most of the time, dressing herself as though she were a she-raven.

But Diaval was watching her closely, head tilted, beady eyes considering. ‘Have you done something to your hair?’

Aurora’s shoulder’s sagged, her eyes rolling in exasperation. He laughed at her.

‘You look lovely. Come on, there’s someone as wants to see you.’

He took her hand in the approved court style and guided her down a few steps, along one of the walkways winding about the palace, and then up into the pavilion with its cushions and throws that was Aurora’s favoured place in her Moorland castle.

A figure stood at one of the high windows, looking out across the Moors, and he turned as they entered and smiled.

‘Aurora!’

She stared at him for a moment, uncertain, and then realised that she knew the smile in this stranger’s face.

‘Phillip!’

He had been a boy when he had left, sailing with the fleet from Ulstead to places unimaginably far. A little over a year ago. He seemed a man now, shoulders broader, cheeks leaner. His hair was longer, streaked gold by the sun, and his face was deeply tanned. But the eyes were the same, still filled with sympathy and kindness. He was himself.

And she was so very happy to see him. She crossed the space, holding out her hands in welcome and he caught them in his.

‘I didn’t think you’d be here.’

‘I would never have missed your birthday,’ he declared.

‘You missed it last year,’ she reminded him.

‘Yes...’ He grimaced slightly. ‘I would much rather have been here.’

‘Oh? I thought you liked being with the fleet.’

‘I do...’ He looked slightly shamefaced, laughing at himself. ‘But I spent most of this time last year being seasick.’

Her eyebrows rose slightly. ‘You’ve always said you’re a good sailor!’

‘And I am,’ he protested. ‘But there are waves and then there are _waves_. There were the most ferocious storms. But I’d have sailed back single-handed just so I wouldn’t miss your _eighteenth_ birthday.’

She smiled, felt warmth in her cheeks, and was glad of the more sophisticated way that Sìne had dressed her hair, and the silk gown that Maleficent had given her, and the gold bangle that Diaval-

Aurora looked back at the doorway and found her father still leaning in it, his arms folded, watching them with apparent disinterest.

‘Are you-’ She stopped, not quite believing it. ‘Are you being a chaperone?’

‘Very proper,’ Phillip said quickly, and with a vague air of approval, years of accepted propriety not quite knocked out of him.

‘I am,’ Diaval confirmed. ‘So if anyone asks, I was here all the time.’ And with that, he peeled himself from the doorframe and left them.

Aurora couldn’t help the escaping laughter, both at Diaval’s cavalier approach to chaperonage (for which she was grateful) but especially at Phillip’s bemusement.

‘I, er, I don’t suppose ravens really go in for chaperones,’ Phillip said uncertainly, eying the doorway as though expecting Diaval to reappear.

‘Neither do queens,’ Aurora responded, holding herself upright and trying to command as much magisterial calm as she was able.

‘Ah,’ Phillip nodded wisely. But with his lips twitching, Aurora had the impression that the end result had not been quite as magisterial as she had hoped. She abandoned her pretensions of grandeur.

‘I can’t wait to hear all about it. Was it wonderful?’

Her face was alight, just the way he remembered it. Her eyes so clear and full of life and joy. ‘It was,’ he said softly, taking in the lines of the features that he had already learned by heart. ‘You’d have loved it.’ Loose tendrils about her face, her skin kissed with gold by the summer sun, the scent of honeysuckle rising on the warm air, it was a perfect moment. And he was terrified of ruining it. Pulling himself back from the precipice of something that he wanted so badly, Phillip forced a smile that held more lightness than he actually felt. ‘But I brought you something back.’

He attempted a flourish and realised part way through that he wasn’t really the flourishing type. ‘It’s, um...’ He gestured awkwardly towards an oddly shaped something covered by a cloth. Aurora glanced at it, then him, then back to it. She took hold of one corner of the fabric, gave it a gentle tug and watched as an extraordinary scene was revealed.

A tree covered in gold leaf, its fruit tiny flecks of ruby, spread over a gleaming peacock, the feathers delicate filigree in iridescent shades, and a much larger animal, also wrought in gold, its eyes picked out in jewels.

Aurora gasped with delight. ‘Oh, it’s an elephant!’

He felt a knot in his chest release, relief and pleasure spreading through at the sight of her immediate enchantment. ‘Wait...’ He fumbled at the base that they stood on. There was a whirring sound, a series of clicks, and then the peacock raised its head, spread its tail, its beak opening and closing. The elephant flapped its ears, raised its trunk. A sweet, tinkling tune accompanied the movement. ‘It’s an automaton.’

‘It’s wonderful! How do you work it?’

He showed her the mechanism and Aurora set it in motion again, watching, enraptured. ‘Did you see real elephants?’

‘I did. We even rode on them. They’re immense!’ He smiled, remembered the dignity and gentleness of those huge creatures. ‘I’ve never seen anything like them.’

‘Don’t tell Diaval,’ Aurora warned. ‘He’ll nag Godmother to turn him into one.’ A mental image of a black elephant with feathers and a beak danced before her eyes and she laughed to herself before turning fully to face Phillip. ‘It’s so beautiful. Thank you.’

She threw her arms around his neck, kissing his cheek. Phillip held her carefully, overwhelmed by the sudden feel of her in his arms, of the scent of rose and sweet pea twined through her hair. Aurora pulled back slightly, but not entirely away, her hands still resting on his shoulders. They looked at one another and everything seemed to blur around the edges, time stretching and slowing in those interminable moments when Aurora, slowly, pushed herself up on tip-toe, her eyes fluttering closed, and her lips pressed against his.

When they looked at each other again, it felt as though the whole world had changed.

The quality of the light altered slightly, shadows dancing as someone entered the room. The pair disengaged gently.

Maleficent’s wings rippled as she regarded them, her gaze resting on Phillip and hardening. ‘Oh,’ she said flatly. ‘You didn’t drown.’

Behind her, Diaval winced. ‘Yes, and isn’t it nice that he didn’t?’

Phillip took the greeting with more assurance than would have been evident a year ago and there was nothing forced in the friendly smile that he offered the Guardian of the Moors. ‘Lady Maleficent. I’m so glad to see you again. I trust you have been well?’

She made a sniffing sort of sound in response.

Diaval eased around her, running a calming hand down the edge of one wing. ‘You two should go down - that party will have started and be over before you even get there.’

Aurora shot him a grateful look, claimed Phillip’s arm as they made their way out. ‘I can’t wait to hear all of your news.’

‘Yours first.’

‘Well, Diaval is ambassador to Perceforest now. And Angus and Fiona got married! And...’

Their bright voices faded as they descended.

Maleficent stood in the centre of the room, the fingers of one hand clenching and unclenching like a cat flexing its claws.

‘Calm down,’ Diaval told her.

‘I am perfectly calm,’ she replied, her voice as taut as the skin stretched across the bones of her face.

He ignored this. ‘Don’t do anything you’ll regret later.’ He paused, taking in the hard line of her shoulders and the misery in the depths of her eyes. ‘He’s a nice boy.’

‘Nice’ -the word bit the air- ‘has nothing to do with it.’

‘Then what does?’

‘He doesn’t belong here. He’s a human!’

‘And so is Aurora,’ he said, with infinite patience.

Maleficent glared at him as though this pronouncement was deserving of nothing but ridicule. ‘That’s completely different! We raised her.’

‘I see. And if we hadn’t, she wouldn’t be Aurora. Is that it?’

She didn’t look at him. ‘I don’t know.’

He shrugged. ‘Sure, maybe she’d have been grander, or harder, or wilder, or ... or _something_. But she’d still have been Aurora. She’d still have had the same good heart. And Phillip has a good heart.’ Diaval paused again, watching her. ‘She might marry him, you know.’

‘Marry _Phillip_?!’

‘Who would you sooner she marry? A wallerbog? One of Leif’s saplings?’

Everything about her was harsh and spiking. ‘Aurora doesn’t have to marry anyone. She doesn’t have to get married at all. Nothing needs to change. _Nothing_.’

Emotions warred across his face. Longing, frustration, pity. There were scars so deep that even Aurora’s sunshine could not heal. Every time he thought that he had managed to coax her, a little, out of her tiny world of self-recrimination and mistrust, just when he could see a tantalising glimpse of the full glory of what she could be, she would shut him out again. And the thought that he had been denying for so long was becoming heavier, more insistent - that no matter what he did, no matter what they endured together, her fear would always be stronger than his love.

‘Well. Maybe Aurora will just become a spinster.’

 _If only..._ she thought. If her precious girl guarded her heart. If she never gave of herself, she could never be hurt. She could be as she was, always. They could be just as they were. They would be safe like that. Content. Intact, at least. A strange music filled the air. Her brow wrinkling, Maleficent turned and found Diaval fiddling with some extraordinary contraption that had taken up residence in the pavilion.

‘What is that?’

He was smiling, delight in his features and his black eyes snapping. ‘It’s Phillip’s birthday present for Aurora. See? They move and it plays a tune. It’s a pretty thing, don’t you think?’

It was certainly an extraordinary one, and she had to admit - if only to herself, and absolutely to no-one else - that, on occasion, human ingenuity could almost rival a fairy’s magic. Almost.

Diaval, naturally, was utterly won over by this glittering tribute. ‘D’you see that? It’s called an elephant. I saw it in a book once. It’s a huge creature, and very strong. And clever. Mistress, do you think-’

‘No,’ she said, firm.

‘Not even-’

‘No!’

Deflated, his shoulders sagged; he offered her a wounded, long-suffering countenance. ‘What if it were _my_ birthday and it was the only thing I asked for?’

‘Don’t think that your ridiculous chatter can charm me into a better mood.’

His wounded expression was augmented by wide-eyed innocence. ‘I would never think of such a thing.’ Both blatant lies, and they both knew it.

He looked out of the window, down at the massed gathering of fairies and Moorfolk, and all the evidence of joy and light and life that they embodied.

‘There’s an entire _cake_ made of that chocolate stuff down there,’ he said. ‘You wouldn’t want to miss that.’

‘And you’ll eat twice as much as anyone, I’m sure.’

His head tilted, considering. ‘I’ll certainly give it a go.’

A smile threatened, despite her best efforts. ‘That wasn’t a challenge.’

‘But that’s absolutely how I’m taking it,’ he said, seriously, and she laughed then.

He smiled and offered her his hand to begin the descent.

She could easily fly down: spread her wings and allow the currents to carry her. She dropped the tips of her fingers into the palm of his hand and let him lead her down.


	26. Autumn

If Maleficent had been surprised to be invited to the small intimate wedding of Sir Angus McLeish and Lady Fiona Glenross, she was astounded to find herself at the christening of their firstborn child.

A girl-child, with a shock of dark hair and wide grey eyes.

‘Pretty little thing,’ Diaval murmured in her ear.

‘Hm.’ One human child looked much like any other, she thought.

‘Not as pretty as Aurora was, though.’

Maleficent’s features softened. ‘She was a sweet little beastie.’

Diaval’s eyes slid sideways and he smiled to himself, remembering how that same beastie had been described as so ugly as to be pitiable.

The beastie herself stood beside them, watching with almost as much curiosity and incomprehension as her parents as the humans went through their strange and elaborate rituals in naming and blessing their child. The water that they seemed to believe was magic, the scented smoke, the bells and all of the sitting and standing and kneeling and people very seriously renouncing the devil on behalf of a babe far too young to have any conception of evil.

And all of this before the gruesome effigy of a man hanging from a wooden cross. The thin body was twisted in pain, the face riven in suffering. It was horrific.

‘What _is_ that?’

‘It’s the son of their god, I think.’ Diaval spoke under his breath, glancing at her sideways.

‘It’s grotesque.’

In the pews around them, people shifted, throwing them admonishing looks. Diaval nodded vaguely and ignored them.

‘He was meant to save humans. And some humans worshipped him. Then some other humans murdered him.’

Maleficent nodded wearily. ‘Of course.’

And they called her kind demons.

With her dark wings and her horns, Maleficent was well aware that as far as humans were concerned she looked the very embodiment of the evil that they so feared.

But there had been fewer whispers, she thought, as they had made their approach through the outskirts of the town, with her wings spread protectively around both Aurora and Diaval, and on into the castle itself. Fewer stares. Not that people were friendly, exactly, but they did not appear to be overtly hostile. Wary, yes - as she was herself - but they did not flee before her.

Her hand had rested in the crook of Diaval’s arm and from time to time he would rest his fingers on hers, a gentle pressure. She found those small touches oddly comforting.

Diaval seemed quite at ease and she marvelled at how he could seem so at home in a place so strange and with people so far removed from his own kind. He waved, nodded, exchanged greetings with any number of people and they all seemed to know him, to welcome him.

He didn’t need her. Not here. And Maleficent was not sure how she felt about that, not sure at all.

The priest stepped down from the altar, dipped his fingers in a small bowl holding the non-magic magic water and flicked it over the crowd. He seemed to send a vast quantity in their direction and Maleficent sucked in a breath of irritation as cold droplets struck her cheek. Her wings ruffled. She wiped her cheek with her fingers. A ripple had run about the congregation and the priest had a peculiar expression on his face, somewhere between surprise and relief. His shoulders sagged slightly.

Maleficent turned a coldly enquiring eye on Diaval and he shrugged.

Later, at the small gathering in a room in a high tower at the castle, Maleficent watched as Diaval held the child in his arms, rocking it gently. The little beast slumbered on, seemingly quite content in his embrace, making little snuffing noises as it slept. How did he know to do that? she wondered. How had he ever known? Any of it? Over all the years. She had taught him to read and write, but as for the rest...

She looked at him, the features she had known so well for twenty years and wondered if she had ever really known him at all. A mighty heart, of course. Kindness and courage always so much greater than anything that could hold him back from whatever it was he intended to do.

And a whole life, it seemed, that she had no part of.

‘He’s better with her than I am. Do you think ambassador duties could be interpreted to cover nursemaid duties?’

The voice, slightly behind her, belonged to the infant’s mother. Fiona McLeish offered Maleficent a friendly smile.

‘Diaval has had practice,’ she responded after a moment, not certain what the purpose of this conversation was.

‘It’s more than I’ve had,’ Fiona admitted. ‘Children had never been much in my line. And if one more physician had made a single comment about my age to be a mother for the first time, they’d have been on the receiving end of their own instruments of torture. In some highly inappropriate places.’

Maleficent looked at her. Unless humans were either very young or very old she could not determine their ages - they all looked much the same to her. But she studied the other woman keenly and decided that Fiona looked to be around her own age.

‘Are you very old to be bearing a child?’

Taken aback by the bluntness of the question, Fiona stared at her and then the green eyes snapped with humour. ‘According to the gentlemen of the medical profession, I’d be more suited to a rocking chair and taking up knitting or embroidery.’

Maleficent considered this. ‘Idiots,’ she pronounced.

Fiona nodded. ‘That’s exactly my sentiment! Apart from anything else, I embroider very badly. But men do tend to think that they know everything.’

Maleficent permitted herself a small smile.

‘Thank you for the gift. It’s very beautiful.’

‘It was Diaval’s suggestion. He knows about these things.’

A coverlet of spiders silk, fit for a fairy princess, embroidered with flowers and images of butterflies, fairies, pixies and sprites. Diaval had remembered the infant Aurora, crying with cold in her lonely crib. It was a gift of warmth. This babe was already so swaddled and cosseted that Maleficent doubted she would know a moment’s cold in her life.

‘I... I do have one request.’

Maleficent tilted her head slightly. Fiona pressed her lips together, uncertainty shading her face. ‘I don’t know if you would agree, and I understand if you don’t want to.’

Humans, even the least objectionable of them, could never just say what they meant. She could feel her impatience spreading. ‘If I don’t want to what?’

Some moments later, Maleficent found herself holding the child awkwardly in her arms, Diaval fussing and adjusting her hands. The baby was surprisingly heavy. It blinked up at her, eyes wide, a thin bubble of drool blowing between its lips.

Aurora wrapped both of her arms around one of Diaval’s, her face glowing with happiness. She seemed _excited_. As though all of this were something sweet and simple and fun instead of a special kind of torture.

Maleficent looked back at the baby. ‘What is it called?’

‘Isobel,’ Sir Angus told her, pride and affection warming his voice.

The dark fairy regarded the bundle in her arms that had apparently fallen asleep; the little beast could have had the manners to stay awake for this, she thought. What did they expect as a gift? Beauty? Wealth? Useless gifts. Valuable to humans, perhaps, but what were they actually worth? What would she wish for Aurora? She hesitated.

‘Hear this. Isobel McLeish, I give you the gift of peace. May you know only contentment and love; may you never know discord or distress. May you never suffer harm at the hand of another or because of their ill-will. For all the days of your life, let this be so.’

Gold shimmered at her fingers, dancing in the air, then sunk into the child’s cheeks. With Isobel still in Maleficent’s arms, Diaval rested one gentle hand, heavy with the rings she had given him, on her dark curls.

It was an expression of infinite tenderness in his face and Maleficent felt a sudden deep ache, a longing for something that she could not put a name to. It wrapped itself around her heart, robbing her of breath.

She handed the little beast back to its mother and retreated to a corner. Aurora was cooing over Isobel, taking her turn to hold her carefully. With the child in her arms and her blue gown, her own precious Beastie looked like the statues and paintings in the chapel - what seemed to be the same woman, over and over, with a cloak of blue and a baby on her knee. Aurora seemed to have the same affinity with very small humans that Diaval had and for a moment she imagined Aurora with a child of her own.

That brought a different sort of ache, an echo of the one that still lodged in her chest but less insistent.

She watched Aurora and then realised that Diaval was watching her. Maleficent met his gaze and that spear of unknown longing cut through. Those black eyes of his could see too much.

She looked away.


	27. Winter...

The blizzard had raged for four days, turning the air white, wind howling across the plains and down through the valleys across the Moors. Trees etched black against the bleached sky had boughs weighted and broken under the fall of snow. The worst storm in living memory, enough that any being would wonder if there were not some malign entity summoning this frenzy of a cold so bitter that it burnt.

The Moorfolk found refuge in the palace, entertaining themselves with games and stories, songs and mummers.

And then it stopped, the earth wearing a heavy coat of white. But while the snow had abated, the wind had only dropped but not gone. It was still perilous in its force.

Aurora paced the length of a long gallery and back, her eyes fixed on the horizon, her fingers twisting together.

Phillip approached her cautiously. ‘He’ll be all right.’

She turned, fast, and there was something hard in her face, an unaccustomed wildness. ‘You don’t know that. I should never have asked him to go.’

Wood creaked under the assault of the wind, grinding against the stone towers of the palace. The weather was worsening again, the sky leaden. And somewhere in that storm was Diaval, her father borne on fragile, steadfast wings. She had wanted to know how Perceforest fared and so he had gone, his raven form so small and so breakable riding the treacherous currents.

Phillip meant to comfort her, she knew, but his glib assurances were maddening. She looked at him, saw the faint crease between his brow and the tightening of his jaw. The things he was trying to hold in check behind the certainty of his words. She took hold of his hand and rested her head on his shoulder. They stood watch at the window and waited.

Maleficent did not keep watch. If that wretched raven was so unconcerned about his own welfare and the effect that it would have on his family, and all for the sake of a land of humans who cared not one jot for him, then he could freeze to death. His body could be blown against the rocks, his feathers turned to ice.

That he should care so little for the people who cared for him. And have Aurora worry so. All right, so it was Aurora who had worried for the welfare of the humans and yes, Diaval had immediately volunteered to go but that was just like him. Plunging headlong into something without a thought for how it would make anyone else feel.

His heart thrummed faster than usual. He was stressed, she knew, tired, but not distressed, not in danger. That felt different. He was still safe. And the thread of his heartbeat grew stronger. He was closer.

Maleficent rose from her seat, crossed to one of the windows and opened it. The frigid air bit her cheeks, the gust of wind sending some of the smaller fairies tumbling across the room. She felt Aurora beside her and, knowing Aurora’s eyes were less keen than her own, put a comforting arm about the girl. Aurora, in turn, raised a hand and took Maleficent’s cold fingers in her own - although, why Aurora would think that _she_ needed comforting, Maleficent could not have said.

When Aurora sensed Maleficent’s form stiffen, saw the keenness in her gaze, she turned her eyes back to the horizon, blinking with the harsh sting of wind. She saw, finally, a black form, so small against the expanse of lowering cloud, storm-tossed but still steady, making his way home.

He passed through the embrasure and Aurora slammed the window shut behind him. She turned and found him cradled in Maleficent’s arms, the fairy holding that precious body to her breast, her wings closing around to shelter and warm.

His feathers were in disarray, dusted with snow and he was breathing fast.

Aurora stroked the dark head, pressing her lips against the feathers that still held the bone-deep chill of a winter storm. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she murmured. ‘I should never have asked you to go.’

‘You didn’t ask,’ Maleficent said, her features sharp and her voice sharper. ‘This ridiculous creature insisted and just look at the state of him. I hope you’re pleased with yourself!’ She glared at the bird that she held so close against her heart. He rubbed his feathered cheek against her shoulder, a hoarse rumble in his throat.

Maleficent set him down, her fingers twitching and when Diaval emerged from smoke in his man-form he was still shivering, his face waxy in its paleness and lined with strain.

‘It’s bad,’ he said, his voice rasping. ‘The storm has cut off the town from all the farms and villages. There’s houses that have collapsed under the weight of the snow. They managed to get most of their people into the castle for safety before the storm hit, but they’re running out of supplies. They’ll starve before the thaw sets in.’

Phillip, listening with a growing frown, shook his head, perplexed. ‘But Ulstead was sending aid.’

‘It never came.’

The young man blinked, words struggling and failing to make their way out. ‘I... I’m so sorry, Diaval. Aurora.’

She put her arm through his, a gesture of comfort and assurance. ‘It’s the storm. It isn’t anyone’s fault. But we must do what we can.’

Diaval sat heavily, shadows stark under his eyes, against his pale skin; Aurora crossed to him, dropping to her knees at his side and taking his hand in hers, rubbing warmth into the cold fingers. ‘You’re exhausted.’

He quirked a smile at her. ‘I’m fine. All I need is a sit down and a juicy mouse or ten.’

At their queen’s summons fairies and flower pixies surged forwards bringing food and drink and even, under Thistlewit’s direction, blankets; she crooned about the cold seeping into his poor hollow bones and ignored Maleficent’s venomous glares.

Diaval ate hungrily, tearing into the hunks of bread and devouring quantities of nuts and fruit. He refused Phillip’s offer of a flask of brandy, preferring a draught of fresh Moorland spring water. Slowly colour stole back into his cheeks, warming his skin.

‘The paths between here and Perceforest are all blocked,’ he said, eventually. ‘They need to be cleared, and fast, if we’re to help them.’ He glanced at Maleficent. ‘Pity we don’t have some creature that could melt a path there. Something that breathes fire.’

‘No.’ She breathed hard down her nose.

‘But-’

‘No!’

‘You never let me be anything I like,’ he objected. ‘“You can’t be an elephant, Diaval. You can’t be a dragon, Diaval.” Except when it suits you.’

‘I could put you into a sleep, Diaval.’ And it would probably be the best thing for him. He still looked terrible.

He blazed indignation. ‘You wouldn’t dare!’

‘Wouldn’t l?!’ They stared one another down. Maleficent pulled in a searing breath, tried a different approach. ‘You’ve done enough for one day. You need to rest.’

He shrugged. ‘I’m fine now. Sure, haven’t I had the best care in the world?’ Diaval aimed a smile at his attendants, which Thistlewit took as hers alone and fluttered her eyelashes coyly, twirling one lock of shining curls around her finger. He watched her for a moment and then turned his attention back to Maleficent. ‘I can’t do nothing,’ he said. ‘They’re my friends.’

Something twisted in her chest. Something that hurt. ‘You think that they’d do the same for you?’

‘That’s not the point. That isn’t how friendship works.’

The fairy court watched their exchange with undisguised interest. It was, in Maleficent’s estimation, the time for such a debate; but, she would have to admit, not the place and Diaval would not give her the satisfaction of removing to somewhere more private where they could argue in peace. Her hands balled into fists at her sides, her lips thinning to a hard line.

‘Diaval is right.’ Aurora’s voice was gentle but firm. ‘Our kingdoms are united; that can’t only be when it suits us or when it’s easy. And a dragon’s fire isn’t the worst idea.’

Remembering the wreckage of the castle after the battle, Phillip felt extreme reservation about unleashing a dragon, even if it was a raven underneath. But it was not his kingdom nor his decision and he felt a pang of gratitude that Ulstead was a far simpler realm to govern.

The Guardian of the Moors and its Queen faced one another.

‘I understand if you don’t want to go,’ Aurora said, her voice still gentle and steady. There was something steely beneath it. ‘But it would make it much easier if you did. We’ll find a way through, in any case.’

* * *

Frigid air bit hard against Sir Angus’ lean cheeks as he stepped onto the castle ramparts, searing his lungs and stinging his eyes. He clapped his hands together, rubbing warmth into his fingers, and joined Captain Lennox at the boundary wall. The soldier’s face was reddened and stiff with the cold, his words slurring slightly with the effort of speaking.

‘I thought you should see this.’

Sir Angus squinted into the gloom, trying to make sense of what he was looking at.

A dark shape on the air and jets of fire hitting the frozen earth.

‘Is that..?’

‘I’ve only ever seen one dragon before and that looks like the same one.’

The wyvern’s fire cut a path through the snow and in the wake of the flame Maleficent came on, her staff hitting the ground, the melted ice and snow sent upwards to the banks either side. Behind her a ribbon of light curved through the whited-out landscape. Fairies and sprites, pixies and tree guardians. The Moors walked.

It was not in the dignity of a First Minister, or a former Lord Chancellor, to run through the corridors of a castle. And Sir Angus McLeish did not quite run. But when he reached the great portico he was noticeably out of breath and his usually smooth hair in a state of disarray.

The procession halted. Above their heads, leathery wings beat the air and a huge body descended. The earth seemed to shake at its landing. Black scales glistened in the fading light, its amber eyes burning. It stretched its neck, shook out the feathers rimming its head and wings and roared a hoarse defiant note into the cold air, a jet of flame blasting against the sky.

Beside him, Maleficent’s chiselled features took on a pained expression, her eyes closing momentarily.

Sir Angus had heard the stories; he had no reason to disbelieve them. And yet, when the cloud of smoke enveloped the great beast and rushed downwards he could feel his heart pounding with a strange excitement.

When Diaval’s familiar form emerged, he greeted Maleficent’s accusing glare with an unrepentant grin. ‘Ah, come on now,’ he said, a knowing response to her unspoken chastisement. ‘I might never get the chance again.’

She stared at him for a moment longer and then turned her imperious gaze onto Perceforest’s First Minister. Another, slighter, figure edged past her. Aurora inclined her head graciously and smiled.

‘We’ve brought supplies,’ she said simply.

* * *

The Great Hall of Perceforest Castle had become a place of shelter. Families huddled around braziers, damp wood sending up choking smoke. Fiona McLeish, heavy with her second child, moved at a stately pace between the small groups, offering what aid and comfort she could.

When the Moorfolk entered, they brought with them the colours of spring. If each could bring enough for one other person, Aurora had told them, it would be enough. They had each brought a little more. It was more than enough.

Haggard faces were alive with wonder at the sight of these exotic creatures; for most, it was the first time that they had been so close to any kind of fair folk and that they were bringing aid and succour seemed beyond believing.

The children were less reticent and it was not long before happy shrieks bounced off the stone walls as they found the hedgehog and mushroom fairies to be enthusiastic playmates.

Maleficent was an exception to the pastel hues of the fairy court. Her hair and horns caught up in a dark wrap, the fur-lined cloak heavy, she was a glowering presence as she stalked through the hall, the tips of her wings dragging behind her. She passed the other exception to the pale palette of the Moorfolk: Diaval, sitting cross-legged on the floor, Isobel McLeish in his lap, one chubby hand holding fast to the feathers around the collar of his coat. A large group of human children crowded about him, listening with relish as he told them a story.

‘...And Tassach got the last laugh on the general who had so cruelly abused and cursed him...’

She continued her path and then heard the eruption of childish laughter, the disgusted delight, as Diaval reached the climax of his tale. Her lips twitched slightly.

The air still held a bitter chill, the hall gloomy and slowly filling with an acrid smoke that hung as a pall over the gathering. Maleficent watched, considering, then she grasped her staff and struck it against the floor. The sound vibrated across the cold stone and then gold vines burst through, twisting about each other, growing at a furious rate until they formed an intricate vault that ran the length of the hall. The structure gave off not just light but warmth. The braziers extinguished themselves, replaced moments later by smaller eruptions of the same glowing vines.

Maleficent found herself the recipient of astonished gazes, of cries of gratitude. There was even a small burst of applause from a distant corner. She returned curt nods of her head. But every now and then she even caught herself smiling in response. A woman who had the look of a farmer’s wife pressed a hunk of bread into her hands and muttered something about her looking as though she needed feeding up. She declined, with as much as politeness as she was able, the invitation from another family to sit with them and share their meal.

There was a warmth that came not just from the glowing vault and the braziers. It felt not unpleasant.

* * *

Many of the Moorfolk had returned home as night drew in; others sheltered in the twisted branches of Maleficent’s vines, their crooning songs rising in gentle chimes that rippled through their makeshift beds.

Sir Angus picked his way between the groups of his people, some sleeping, some chattering between themselves around the warmth of their braziers, still glowing with the conjured vines and still marvelling at the wonder and the blessing of magic that night.

He found Diaval in cheerful - and to Sir Angus, unintelligible - conversation with an extraordinary-looking creature that vaguely resembled a badger with its black and white stripes and bright black eyes. At his approach, it fell silent, watching him warily before retreating entirely into the protecting warmth of thick golden leaves.

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude. Or to chase away your, er, friend.’

Diaval gestured expansively. ‘It’s no matter. Sit down.’

He lowered himself stiffly, knees protesting as he bent them into unfamiliar angles.

‘Have a black nut.’ Diaval proffered a hand filled with sleek glistening shells.

‘Thank you.’

A pointy face, with its mane of striped black and white hair, poked out from between the leaves. It sniffed delicately. Sir Angus, with caution, offered the black nut. It chirruped at him, grabbed the nut and retreated once more. He was sure he could hear it giggling.

‘You’ve started something now,’ Diaval warned him. ‘She’ll be after looking for more from you.’

‘Forewarned is forearmed,’ Sir Angus said lightly, smiling.

Diaval’s head tilted, considering this strange phrase. He nodded slowly. ‘I like that...’ He nodded again, sharper. ‘I’ll remember that.’ He handed over another nut, along with the usual warnings against eating too many. ‘We’ll be working on clearing the roads out to the villages tomorrow. Aurora’s got everyone organised.’

‘She works hard.’ Harder than any monarch he had known and she was no longer even their queen.

‘She’s a good girl,’ Diaval agreed, what could only be described as paternal pride infusing his words. ‘And the supplies from Ulstead should arrive soon.’

A pause.

‘Yes...’

The dark head tilted again. ‘What?’

‘It’s...’ Sir Angus hesitated, blew out a breath. ‘It’s nothing.’

‘That was not nothing.’ Diaval sat forward slightly. ‘Did you know that one of my many, _many_ talents is being able to spot a lie?’

Thin lips quirked into a smile. ‘Is _that_ a lie?’

‘I would never! Ravens are very honest birds, so we are. Not like sparrows,’ he continued, earnest. ‘Sure, if they wouldn’t be after swearing that black was white just to spite you. Regular spalpeens, so they are.’

‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ he replied, amused. Conversations with Diaval were always instructive, to say the least. But this detour in their discussion had not been a distraction and the raven in his human skin was waiting - and Diaval was accustomed to dealing with the vagaries of a far more obstreperous personage than Sir Angus McLeish.

‘I’d be more surprised if the goods arrive from Ulstead. We have much to be grateful to them for, but...’

Another pause.

‘But?’

He sighed and met the candid gaze fully. ‘But I think they’d like us to be more grateful still. And a starving people are likely to agree to almost anything that the person giving them relief asks.’

There was a hardening in Diaval’s features that seemed at once at odds with his kindly nature and utterly fitting - he was a wild creature and his instincts to protect what he loved, at all costs, were never far beneath his various surfaces.

‘Why haven’t you said any of this before?’

Sir Angus shrugged vaguely, uncomfortable. ‘There was nothing absolute. What was I to say? “I’ve got a feeling..?” That’s the province of your old maid aunt - and no-one ever listens to her.’

‘Perhaps they should.’

He blew out another breath. ‘Perhaps. My old maid aunt is a very wise lady, come to to think of it.’ He shifted awkwardly: one of his feet had gone to sleep and his lower back was twinging. He stretched out his legs, rubbing his knees.

‘So,’ said Diaval, his tone deceptively conversational, ‘what exactly is this “feeling” of yours?’

The great hall glowed gold, the air warm, the people sated. All was at peace. Aurora and the young Ulsteadian prince sat with the Lennox children, all chattering happily together; Maleficent had seated herself a little apart, her dark wings a mantle around her and her face the usual inscrutable mask. But there was a softness in those tawny eyes of hers as she watched the group. It seemed impossible that there should be any animosity towards all of this.

But Sir Angus McLeish had spent a lifetime in the company of the vain, the avaricious, the arrogant and the downright mad. He had few illusions remaining.

‘I have a feeling,’ he said after a time, ‘that there is an element in Ulstead that would prefer it if Perceforest were to ... disentangle ... itself from the Moors. I have a feeling that the supply packages have been withheld deliberately and would be released with certain conditions that would not be said outright but would be clearly understood.’ He paused. ‘I think that you’ve saved more than just lives tonight.’

Diaval was looking across the hall, distress - controlled, but clear - was written into his features. ‘Phillip-’

‘Is a fine young man. I truly believe that he has only the best of intentions. I did say that it was _elements_ in Ulstead.’

‘Which elements? What does that mean?’

He spread his hands, helpless. ‘I don’t know. I told you it was a feeling.’ His grey eyes took in Diaval consideringly. ‘You’ve never been invited to Ulstead, have you?’

In all the years, despite the closeness, despite Phillip’s near-constant presence in their lives...

‘No. I’ve seen it - hard to miss, all of those towers and spires across the water. It looks very grand.’

Sir Angus nodded. ‘Oh, it is. Very grand, very rich, very ambitious... I just wish I knew what it was ambitious _for_.’ He took another breath. ‘The stories in Ulstead about the Moors... Well, they aren’t very flattering. They’re bloody awful, to be honest. And I don’t know where they come from, or why they’re told.’

Diaval stared at an unfixed point, his hands linked together, knuckles whitening under the strain. ‘I see.’ His voice was soft, low, and the bitter edge on it cut.

‘I’m sorry.’

The dark head with its black feathers nodded.

Sir Angus turned his black nut over and over in his fingers. Leaves rustled beside him. A tiny face, its nose twitching, emerged. He held out the desired prize and, once again, it took it and disappeared with tinkling laughter.

‘Told you.’

‘I was prepared to lose it from the start.’

Diaval’s smile did not quite reach his eyes. ‘I’m not prepared to lose. Not any of it.’

‘Good for you,’ he said softly. ‘Anyway, I’d imagine that a dragon would be enough to make anyone think twice about ... well, just about anything. And you’re a dragon.’

There was an oddness in his tone that Diaval met with a bemused stare. ‘Sure, you’ve known that for years.’

‘Yes, I know, but... I _knew_ but- But _seeing_ it...’ His calm grey eyes were suddenly alive and sparkling. ‘You turn into a dragon!’

Diaval laughed. ‘That I do. And a lot of other things besides.’

Sir Angus looked him over as though he were truly seeing him for the first time. ‘What is it like?’

‘Being a dragon?’

‘Yes- Well, being any of it. I can’t imagine what it feels like.’

No-one had ever asked before; well, apart from Aurora, and even then it had only been about being a bird and what it was like to fly. What _was_ it like? How could he really explain it when he couldn’t fully understand it himself?

Diaval thought about it, how it felt to be all of those different creatures, what it meant to have so many thoughts and instincts and feelings all swirling inside him, how he could feel the imprint of everything he had ever been still, always. How it made him more than he had ever thought he could be, when he had been just one raven among many in his unkindness on the edge of the Moors. How it felt, the rush of her hot magic under his skin, those fleeting moments when her mind touched his and he knew far more of her than she could ever say with a word or a gesture or a look. It felt like falling into eternity. It felt like flying even when he didn’t have any wings.

He smiled, his eyes burning. ‘It’s grand.’


	28. ...And Spring

Maleficent loved the Moors at all times but there was something especially lovely about late spring, that time before the overblown blowsiness of summer but later than the tremulous green traceries that adorned the waking trees at the start of the season. Everything felt ripening, colours new and bright, this part of the world that was hers about to burst into its full glory.

It held promise.

On that particular morning the Moors seemed to have cloaked themselves with extra care. Every colour sang, each tree dripping in blossom, the air heady and heavy and alive. Excitement buzzed under the surface; it was though everything were holding its breath.

She stood on the stone ledge, drinking in the sights and the scents and tried to tell herself that this was how it would be forever.

And then Diaval flapped down, cawing emphatically.

And everything changed.


	29. Family Ties

_1\. Maleficent_

It had not taken Maleficent long to locate Diaval again. On land - as in the air - he always aimed for the shortest distance between any two given points, and his frequent aerial perspectives had shown him numerous hidden paths and shortcuts across the Moors.

He was lying on the banks of a stream, sunning himself after having clearly enjoyed a swim in the clear waters. He would have felt her landing - the resulting draft had very clearly ruffled his hair - but he didn’t bother lifting his head until she had stalked across to him.

He smiled up at her lazily. ‘The water’s grand today. You should have a dip.’

She ignored this.

‘She said yes.’

‘I know.’

‘You didn’t tell me that!’

‘You didn’t give me the chance!’ He squinted at her uncertainly. ‘Uh, Phillip is still human-shaped, isn’t he?’

Maleficent sucked in a breath. ‘Aurora did say something about turning him into a goat.’

‘I doubt it was a request.’ He stood, shaking the last of the water out of his hair before starting to pull on his clothes.

Not an unpleasant sight, watching him, the way he moved with that easy controlled grace of his; as fine a sight as any to be seen on the Moors- Maleficent shook her head sharply, refusing to be distracted from her ire.

Diaval ran his hands though his hair, sleek dark strands clinging to the curve of his neck, his feathers still glistening under the spring sunshine.

‘We have been invited to dinner,’ she told him stiffly. ‘By Phillip’s parents.’

He nodded, his lips pushing out and in and his eyebrows rose very slightly. ‘Well... That’s nice of them.’

‘Is it?’

He seemed to think about it. ‘Yes.’

‘Mm. Because Ulstead has been so welcoming until now.’

She could see it, the uncertainty behind his eyes, knew that he felt the same spike of apprehension and dread that she did. He felt it. He had to. She couldn’t be alone in this.

‘Maybe it’s a new start,’ he said, careful, a gentle tone that you’d use to a child or a wild thing about to bolt. ‘If we get to know each other, it would be a good thing. After all, when Aurora marries Phillip-’

‘When? Just because she has accepted this absurd proposal, it does not mean that there will be a wedding!’ A shimmer of green passed through her wings, sparking at her finger tips. Aurora was a child still. She didn’t know the world; she didn’t know men and what they were capable of.

She could feel Diaval watching her, that considering look of his that she particularly disliked.

‘Not all marriages are unhappy,’ he said.

‘And you would know.’ She drawled the words, loading them with sarcasm and spite.

‘So do you.’ His tone was maddeningly patient. ‘Just look at Sir Angus and Lady Fiona. Or Hugh and Catrìona.’

She frowned. ‘Who?’

‘Hugh and Catrìona,’ he said clearly.

A moment and her brow creased fractionally. ‘I thought that her husband’s name is Lennox.’

‘It- That’s the family name. Lennox. Hugh Lennox, that’s his full name.’

Incredulity in his features and she felt like hitting him. Or turning him into something slimy and hideous.

‘Why are we talking about this?’ It was a demand. That was always safer.

‘Because-’ His hands on his hips, exasperation crackling through his bones - and then his face softened and something stole into his eyes, warmth that she had seen so many times before. ‘Because people can be happy together. They can be together for a long time just- Just looking after each other. That’s worth something, isn’t it?’

It was surprisingly hot, standing in the sun. She could feel the prickle of heat across her cheeks, the scalding of it down her throat and into her lungs as she breathed.

She turned away and heard him sigh very slightly.

‘It will be all right,’ he said after a moment. ‘It’s just dinner, after all. Although...’

‘Although?’

Behind her, unseen, Diaval grimaced. ‘Well, we might need to run through some etiquette beforehand.’

The freezing stare she turned on him would have sent any other being, of any size, running for cover. Diaval, as ever, returned her gaze with limpid candour and showed no sign at all of being even slightly intimidated. He could at least _pretend_ to cower, she thought, he could give the impression that the feared and mighty Guardian of the Moors was a force far greater than a common raven. Instead he looked at her with something like indulgence, as though he were simply placating her.

‘It’s not hard,’ he said. And then thought about it. ‘Well, it is a little peculiar, I suppose, but it’s just all of the formalities that humans like so much. Just think of it as a gesture of goodwill. In response’ -he added, quick, before she had the chance to say anything- ‘to their invitation. Goodwill on both sides.’

Damn him, she thought savagely. He made it all sound so reasonable.

‘I’ll think about it.’

She spread her wings.

‘Mistress, if you could- If you could turn me back into a bird,’ he concluded, addressing the fast-vanishing shape that was Maleficent on the air. He sighed and resumed his long walk back to the Moorland palace.

* * *

_2\. Aurora_

To Aurora, it felt as though years had passed before she finally spied Diaval nearing the stone spires of the palace. She ran down the twisting steps lightly, breathless when she met him at the entrance to the great hall.

‘So, I hear you’re getting married,’ he said, as though it were a common place thing and he had but a passing interest in it. ‘Good luck.’

Her shoulders sagged as she looked at him, her cheeks still flushed pink from the exertion. ‘Don’t you mean congratulations?’

‘You congratulate the groom,’ he told her, his arm about her shoulders. ‘You wish the bride luck.’

She tilted her head back to look up at him. ‘Really?’

‘Really. So, it’s good luck I’m wishing you - even if you didn’t want to tell us about it.’

‘I didn’t really mean-’ The words were fast and then she stopped. ‘How did you know about that?’

He gave her a loaded look. ‘Bird, branch... You should try looking up now and then.’

Aurora’s eyes rolled. ‘You have _got_ to stop doing that. You don’t need to spy on me anymore!’

‘How else would I hear all the news?’ He was all innocence. She struck him on the arm and then shrieked when he tickled her.

When a truce was called, Aurora dropped onto a soft mossy stone by the stream and dipped her feet into the water, enjoying the cool current between her toes. Diaval stretched out beside her and they sat, companionably, for some time. He shrugged off his coat, the leather hot and confining under the glare of the sun.

‘What do you think of the ring?’ She wriggled her fingers at him.

Diaval took her hand, turning it this way and that. ‘Nice and shiny,’ he pronounced, approving. ‘It suits you.’

It was a delicate piece, its lines fluid and simple, like a jewel from the Moors itself. Aurora gazed it happily; and then her smile faded slightly.

Diaval waited, patient.

‘I just wish Godmother wasn’t so against Phillip.’

‘She’s afraid,’ he said and his voice was so soft it seemed to barely brush her ears. ‘It isn’t personal. It isn’t because it’s Phillip - he could be anyone. She sees a human man and she’s afraid. And she’s afraid for you. It’s because she loves you.’

‘I know that.’ Aurora pulled her feet out of the water, tucked them under the hem of her dress. She wrapped her arms around her knees, rocking herself. ‘But we have so many human friends.’

And they were not all betrayers. The whole of humankind could not be represented by the man who had deceived and maimed his childhood friend. His sweetheart. The girl who had shown him kindness and he had repaid her with pain and blood. That was not all humans. It wasn’t her. It wasn’t Phillip.

‘Yes... But they aren’t always here. And they don’t want to marry you.’ He reached out, brushing a loose curl from her cheek. ‘She just needs a little time.’

‘Yes.’ She smiled. ‘But at least _you_ like Phillip. Don’t you?’ Uncertainty in her tone: she had seen him fidgeting.

He considered the boy. ‘I don’t _dislike_ him,’ he said, and was dismayed to see the distress in her face. It was like the sun clouding over.

Aurora stared at him.

‘We just don’t have a lot in common,’ Diaval said, trying to placate her. ‘Well, apart from being fond of you, of course.’

One corner of her mouth turned upwards. ‘Fond?’

‘Fond,’ he confirmed. ‘Y’know, we think you’re not bad. You’re all right. You could be worse. You’ll do.’

She splashed water at him. Diaval patted the droplets into his face.

‘Ah, now that’s refreshing.’

She gave her version of a scowl. ‘You’re exasperating.’

He tilted his head at her. ‘You know, you sound more like Maleficent everyday.’

In a decidedly un-queenly gesture, Aurora stuck her tongue out at him and then leaned back, turning her face up to the sun. ‘It is going to be all right, isn’t it?’

‘Of course it is.’ She heard the certain hope in his voice; she didn’t see the apprehension in his eyes.

Energy ran though her, fizzing under her skin. She sat forward again. ‘I’m so happy I’m finally going to meet Phillip’s parents!’

‘Mm.’

King John - according to everyone - was a kind and just man, a good man, and a good king. Queen Ingrith was always spoken of as being devoted Ulstead, to her husband and son. There had never been anything said, not directly, but Aurora had the impression that Ingrith was wary of the Moors and its people, that she was not a natural friend of creatures whose lives were defined by magic and the rhythms of the earth. She tried to picture her beloved Godmother in such surroundings and knew how out of place she would feel, how exposed and felt something more than trepidation in the pit of her stomach.

‘I am nervous, though,’ she said, quiet, addressing her words to the white clouds scudding across the wide blue sky.

Diaval was immediately, unquestioningly, defensive. ‘And what have you got to be nervous about? It’s _their_ honour to meet _you_ , so it is!’

She wanted the evening to go well. She wanted them to like her. She wanted them to like Maleficent.

‘I just want to make a good impression - especially after all this time! I’m so glad that Queen Ingrith has invited us, but... She sounds so ... regal.’

Diaval waved a hand. ‘Ah, sure, she’s nothing on you. Aren’t you Queen of the Moors? And aren’t you still the Head of State of Perceforest? And you’re their Princess Royal. That all makes you twice as regal, at least. And that’s before we even to get to you being the fledgling of the great Maleficent herself and the handsomest raven hatched since Feardorcha the Vain!’

Aurora’s life twitched, one eyebrow rising. ‘Feardorcha the Vain?’

‘A handsome bird, so he was; but, oh my feathers! was he not the great one for admiring himself!’

‘And even other ravens thought him vain?’ she asked wonderingly.

He nodded. ‘That they did. But if it’s all true, is it even vanity?’

She laughed. ‘Yes, I think it still is.’

‘Oh.’ His shoulders slumped, mock-despondent. And then shrugged. ‘Ah well.’

Aurora shifted around until she sat cross-legged, facing him. ‘What happened to Feardorcha the Vain?’

‘As it so happened, he was perched on the banks of a stream just like we are now.’

She loved it when he told his raven’s stories. She loved that he so loved to tell them; that this hidden world of heroes, warriors, lovers and tricksters was told. All the ravens across the many lands of the earth had learnt these tales, shared them, it was their heritage. And hers. Though she had no wings, had no knowledge of flight or the curious, complex system of raven society, she was a raven’s child.

She loved these stories that she took as her own.

‘On the banks of the stream, Feardorcha perched and stared into the water at his own reflection. He admired the perfect curves of his beak and the shine of his eyes. He was transfixed by the way the sunshine bounced off his glossy black feathers and he was certain that no finer bird existed in all of creation.

Not for anything would he stir from that spot, not even when winter came and the cold set in that chilled even the most hardy to the very bone. There he sat, on the bank, looking down into the water that was now covered in ice; and the ice spread until it covered Feardorcha himself and he was frozen to the spot.’

Aurora’s eyes widened slightly; and she told herself that by now she should be accustomed to the somewhat macabre tenor of most of her father’s stories.

He continued: ‘A water-nymph, rising in her winter home to catch the air, saw the frozen raven perched on the bank of her stream and, like Feardorcha himself, thought he was the most beautiful creature she had ever seen and she loved him for his beauty.’

‘And she thawed him and saved his life!’ Her face glowed.

‘Uh... No. Actually, she cast a spell so that he would stay frozen even when the spring came - well, he was already dead, there was nothing she could do about that. But she could keep her beautiful bird and she tended to him every day. And that’s why, in the old country, there’s still water folk that worship ravens as gods.’

Aurora pressed her lips together, tried to keep her voice steady. ‘Just as it should be.’

He nodded. ‘Too right.’ Diaval lay back, arms folded behind his head, and stared up at the clouds. ‘Of course, the really important question is what to wear tonight.’

Aurora lay beside him, her golden hair mingling with his dark locks. ‘You might consider something in black,’ she said, ‘possibly with feathers.

‘Astonishing! That’s just what I was thinking! Is there no end to your talents?’

She laughed and then her hand stole into his. ‘Tell me again it’s going to be all right.’

His finger closed firmly around hers. ‘It’s all going to be fine.’

* * *

_3\. Diaval_

‘Well?’

Diaval looked at Maleficent cautiously. ‘Well what?’

She looked quite breathtaking, he thought (but then he thought that quite more than was probably good for him); the black dress was almost austere, save for the adornment of bird skulls, and the simplicity enhanced the sharp lines of her cheekbones and the spark in her eyes.

He shook himself. She was standing, regal as ever, her head held high, watching him with an expression that he could not quite name.

‘You mentioned something about etiquette.’ She managed to make that last word sound like something odious. Which, to her, it probably was.

But she was willing to make the effort and he ached for her. In so many different ways.

As an innately courteous and well-bred raven, the intricacies of human social interaction did not appear so mysterious to Diaval. His raven’s gift for mimicry also served him well in copying their behaviour, as did the near-twenty years he had spent spying on the inhabitants of the castle, as well as his role as ambassador between the Moors and Perceforest.

There was also the fact that in his man-form, humans tended to accept him as one of them. As long as he had a human face, two arms, two legs, and nothing extraneous, they were happy. They would have to look closely to see his feathers and his bird’s bones, that they took for scars, beneath his human skin and the talons where fingernails should be. Humans, in his experience, did not look closely.

For his poor mistress it was a different tale, and her efforts to adopt human mannerisms were pitiful. He could see the fear in her eyes, almost taste it roiling off her body, and the reminder was there yet again of those deep, unseen scars that had never entirely gone away.

But she tried, rehearsing, studying her own smile and words in the still waters.

And then Aurora had appeared with the black veil. It had been kindly meant but the pain in Maleficent’s face, the slight drooping of her wings, had pierced him and for the first time in all their years he had felt disappointed in their beautiful fledgling.

It wasn’t unkindness - Aurora was incapable of such a thing - but it was tactless. Naivety born out of nervousness, he knew, but he still felt that pang.

Maleficent had stepped away from them, awkwardly wrestling with the fine cloth wrought from spider’s silk. Diaval moved towards her, took the gossamer from her hands and draped it over her horns, fixing it in place with the bird’s skull on her headdress. The same diadem he had given her the day of Aurora’s coronation. He took a step back, regarded the effect.

‘That actually looks good.’ He leant towards her, conspiratorial. ‘You can still tell you have horns, though. Now they’re just shrouded in mystery.’

A faint smile touched her lips. ‘Ridiculous bird,’ she murmured. He offered her his hand and her fingers curled around his, hard, finding an anchor.

But if Diaval had felt disappointed then, it was nothing to how he felt some hours later.


	30. Sundered

_1\. Maleficent_

She could feel him as she fell. Despite spiralling through the air, despite the pain that threatened to tear her apart, despite her own senses becoming clouded and indistinct, she could feel him.

Diaval had remained at her side, unmoving, during those final devastating moments in the castle. She had not even looked back to check that he was there, she had known it. He would always be there. Then his hoarse caws following her into the night.

Pain.

Aurora’s refusal, her rejection-

And then something slammed into her, her body contorting, magic flowing from her, and her thoughts went to Diaval. She heard his raven cry turn to a human voice, a man’s body, wingless, falling through the air, and she concentrated on turning him back, giving him his wings.

She could feel the hammering of his heartbeat, again saw his face, again heard his cry.

She tried to hold onto his edges, tried to keep him safe. But his bird-bright eyes kept burning at her from his human face.

She was falling and she couldn’t stop herself and she knew he was falling with her. She tried again to give him back his true form and again she saw his face, heard his voice, a gentle rasp on the night.

She hit freezing water and surrendered to its dark embrace.

* * *

_2\. Diaval_

The landing winded him. For long moments, Diaval lay in a tangle of branch and thorn and bramble and tried to drag air into lungs that would not cooperate. Unconsciousness, brief and black, claimed him for a time; and when he came to, his body protesting, every limb aching, his thoughts were of Maleficent.

He stumbled across the dark Moors, tripping over stones and raised roots; brambles scratched his face and hands, tore the fine clothes and soft feathers he wore.

The sky had been stained green. Magic bleeding from her as she fell.

His mistress, his Maleficent, hurt and alone and she would need him. If he could only find her. He cursed his heavy human body with its dense bones and awkward limbs that held him to the earth. If he had his wings, if he could soar high on the winds he could see her, go to her, heal her.

If he couldn’t find her...

Diaval tripped, again, this time falling heavily, sprawling into a patch of buttercups. He sneezed, and then felt a sharp sting as a hard little hand slapped his face and he found himself looking at the hovering form of a very irate Knotgrass.

‘It is too much to ask,’ she demanded, her voice seeming far too loud for her diminutive size, ‘that we can pass at least one night without great galumphing creatures crashing into our bedchamber?’

Any other time, Diaval would have taken exception to the manifest untruth of her complaint and would have spent a few cheerful hours arguing the point and exchanging insults. Now, he simply looked at her, skin prickling with a sickening desperation.

‘Have you seen Maleficent?’

Knotgrass rolled her eyes. ‘What’s she done now?’

‘She hasn’t done anything!’

He didn’t stop to consider these words. They were true, he knew it. Despite her very evident anger, despite her darkness and destruction, Maleficent had had no reason to curse the king. The one curse she had ever spoken in her life was with her still, colouring her world, regret and self-recrimination twined around her heart. She would not invoke another curse lightly, even under such overt provocation.

If it had been the queen struck down, that might have been a different matter...

‘I have to find her. She was hurt. Badly.’

‘You’re bleeding yourself.’ Flittle, a flurry of her blue butterflies, her sharp face twisted in concern, floated by his head. Her magic was not as strong as Maleficent’s, but he felt her hand against the raw oozing scratch along his cheek and the spread of healing warmth that felt so familiar. He blinked against the pressure behind his eyes. He pulled up a smile that was a little lopsided.

‘Thanks.’

The blue pixie ran tiny fingers over a ruffled feather that fell across his forehead. An affectionate gesture that came with a sympathetic, reassuring smile. ‘We’ll find her,’ she said.

He felt a sudden surge of genuine fondness for the little creature. She was good-hearted. They all were, despite their faults. Even the stubborn, irascible Knotgrass was possessed of a rough sort of kindness.

‘Send word out. All the sentinels, every being keeping watch across the Moors. She’ll need help.’

Knotgrass was still grumbling, but she flew upwards, rousing Leif and Balthazar and the great tree guardians soon sent messages through branch and root to all their brethren.

Diaval sat, his head still pounding and heavy from the fall. And fear. He stared at an unfixed point in the dark grass stretching out from under his feet and eventually became aware of something hovering nearby.

Thistlewit, alone of her sisters, regarded him with an uncharacteristic seriousness, concern etched into her delicate features. ‘What did happen tonight?’

He had gone over it so many times, trying to catch each detail, to make sense of what had happened. It seemed as though everything had been a deliberate insult, each word and gesture designed to push Maleficent to the inevitable display of power and fury. But that also seemed nonsensical - what possible purpose could there be?

Diaval shook his head. ‘I don’t know. There was... A disagreement. Then King John took ill and they’re blaming Maleficent for it. But she didn’t do anything to him. She didn’t do anything to anyone, she just...’

‘Threw a tantrum.’

Thistlewit smiled wryly and it felt disloyal to smile back, to acknowledge the truth, but truth it was. And the relief that this was stated and accepted so easily was so great that if the pixie had been human-sized he would have hugged her.

Diaval dashed the back of his hand across his eyes, blinked hard, forced a crooked smile. ‘She might have gone back to the cave. I’ll take a look there.’

A flash of something unnamable across her face and then she righted herself, pulling herself up on the air. ‘I’ll see if the sprites have heard anything.’

‘Thistlewit.’ She was so tiny. He stretched out one finger, resting the tip gently against her face. ‘Thanks.’

Her cheeks stained pink and she flew towards the waters.

It was futile, he knew it, but he made his tired feet move towards the path that twisted up towards their cave. Futile, but there was a vague hope.

He stopped before the mouth of the cave. Fallen leaves hushed against stone; the air still held a scent that he knew, a cool clean scent like rain on spring leaves and something deeper beneath it, the warm amber smell of dark glossy feathers. It was a lingering scent, not a new one. She had not been there, not for many hours. There was a stillness on the air that came from absence.

Gone.

He was alone.

‘Mistress...’ His voice was a croak. ‘Mistress? Maleficent!’

An answering cry came, Aurora calling for her and Diaval ran from the lonely cave, down to the palace in the heart of the Moors.

Seeing Aurora, however, only added to his concerns. The girl did not look well, her face flushed, her eyes holding an unnatural glitter. If anything, she looked ill and he wondered for a moment if there was some sickness in the castle, something unknown that had stricken the king and infected Aurora.

His arm about her, he tried to persuade her to sit, take some of the spring water, to rest and _think_.

She shrugged him off, her face clammy and pale. ‘I have to get back. I- I have to make this right.’ Eyes turned up to his, her hands writhing together and she kept scratching at the pad of one finger. ‘There has to be a way to break the curse. If we can just find Maleficent-’

He took her by the shoulders very gently. ‘Aurora. I don’t think she cursed the king.’

Her eyes were wild. ‘You saw what happened!’

Diaval took a breath, tried to keep his voice as level and gentle as though he were speaking to a hatchling. ‘I did. She knocked down the soldiers that were coming for us. She didn’t send any magic or anything else towards King John. She didn’t touch him. I don’t know what happened-’

‘He’s in a cursed sleep! Of all people, I know what that’s like!’ She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, her body shaking, breath rattling through. ‘Please. Please, just- Just find her.’

He nodded, weary. ‘We will. Come on. You should get some rest.’

Aurora stepped back, shook her head. ‘I have to get back.’

He took another breath, and with it pushed down the impatience he could feel starting to break through. ‘You need to sleep. And the Moors needs it leader.’

‘Yes...’ Aurora looked about her, as though noticing the Moorfolk hovering about the thickets and streams for the first time. She pulled herself up, straight and proud in the moonlight. ‘You must do it.’

‘I- What?’ He stared at her.

Aurora nodded, pulling him towards the throne, all but pushing him down into the broad wooden seat. ‘There’s no-one better. While I’m in Ulstead, you must lead the Moors. You’ll look after everyone. You always do that anyway.’ For a moment, she almost sounded herself again.

A final embrace and she remounted her horse, riding hard back across the plains and up into the mountain passes that would take her to he castle. A longer route than across the river; she would not reach Ulstead before dawn.

Diaval did not sit on the throne. He sank down before it, cross-legged on the mossy ground. And, yet again, went over the events of the dinner.

Now it seemed as though every moment had been designed to provoke, each word and gesture and veiled - or not so veiled - insult intended to lead towards an outburst.

Forewarned.

Sir Angus had tried to tell him - but how he could tell him what was so indistinct? He remembered Fiona showing him a painting, a detail in it that looked like a puddle of water until she had moved them to a different angle and the puddle had become a skull, a memento mori hidden in plain view. He had been captivated, moving around and watching it disappear and reform. Diaval felt that way again now, as though he were staring at an amorphous mass that would become clear if he could just find the right way of looking at it.

His thoughts were mangled, half-formed images tumbling over each other but out of the maelstrom there was one thought:

If she didn’t come back.

It was like pressing on a bruise.

He had tried to make a joke of it to Aurora, falling back on their usual rhythm of teasing her out of any distress. It had not worked, not for either of them; he couldn’t keep the fear out of his voice.

He was Diaval, always, he had always been himself long before he met her but she had give him a human body, a voice, a mind that had expanded to encompass so many things that neither of them could have guessed at that day by the field. He had always been Diaval but he was _this_ Diaval because of her, for her, he had made her the centre of his world. Who was he without her?

He felt sick.

But the even worse thought was that she was lost somewhere and hurt, needing him, and he would fail her after all these years.

From a distance, the Moorfolk watched their appointed leader and ached for his pain.

Diaval lowered his head and shut his eyes.

* * *

_3\. Maleficent_

She knew the sensation of flying. Wind across her skin, her body weightless. There was pain and a deep still darkness that she wanted to slide into again.

She should have been panicked, should have tried to right herself and gather what strength she had left. But there were feathers, deep and dark as a raven’s wing and she felt a familiar faint gold thrum against her heart.

Safety. Always, as long as he was with her.

Comforted, Maleficent slipped back into the dark.


	31. Nocturne

_1\. Aurora_

They were supposed to look after each other. It had seemed so simple, all those years ago, before she had had any idea of curses, or pain, or true love, or evil.

Her head ached with more than just the pins that had been jabbed into the elaborate hairstyle. She raised a hand, fingers exploring the coiled braids that felt stiff and unyielding; Sìne could be just as merciless in her handling of other people’s heads, but the end result always looked and felt like a better version of herself.

She felt like a doll that had been dressed, arranged in a seat and put on display for the benefit of others. The clothes were very fine, but heavy, constricting. The lady’s maids with their hard efficient hands had laced her into them, unsmiling, performing their task with no sign of enjoyment or interest.

A doll that must be made to look right, but for whom no-one really cared.

Why did Ingrith’s interest and concern feel so unwelcome? Why was it that behind that gracious smile she imagined teeth that were clenched and bared?

Why had she said nothing during that horrible dinner?

Disjointed fragments: iron singeing skin, Diaval menaced by the cat, stories from a past that no-one really understood except for themselves, the crib-

She had wanted Phillip’s parents to like her. Later, she had thought, later she would tell Maleficent that _of course_ she would not give up the Moors for Ulstead; and while Ingrith meant well - she thought, she had to believe - there was no question that Aurora would ever view her as a mother.

She should have said something then, not just trusting that Maleficent would understand or have the patience to wait for an explanation later.

Gone.

Somewhere in the dark, beyond even Diaval’s knowledge, she was somewhere. The absence was something beyond feeling, a loss more than she could take and the result was a numbness that covered her body, that blotted out thought and word as she sat, hands folded in her lap, and saw a stranger looking back at her from her own reflection.

If she felt anything she would start screaming and she wouldn’t stop.

Aurora leaned against the stone balustrade, stared across the narrow stretch of water that separated Ulstead from the Moors. It was a warm night, the air heavy and carrying the tang of brine from the sea. The Moors, she knew, would be heady with night-blooming flowers and missed the familiar scents of her home. The formal gardens around the castle were rigid in their lines and there was skill and probably a kind of beauty in their sterile perfection but she could not admire it.

Phillip had always talked of the light and brightness of his father’s castle and it was certainly true that the white stone and vast chambers with their high windows flooded every room with light. But it still felt oppressive, as though the shadows were darker and deeper and waiting to overcome everything.

Whispers on the edge of her mind, an old evil that she might have recognised if she had not been so tired

Aurora pushed herself away from the balustrade, turned towards the bedchamber with all of its tapestries and hangings and abundance of luxury.

The loathing for the jewels in her hair and the fine gown she wore was so intense that the combs broke and the dress tore when she pulled them off.

She dragged the thick damask silk covers from the bed, the cushions and pillows and made herself a nest on the floor; she buried her face in the pillows and felt the softness and prickle of feather beneath the silk.

* * *

_2\. Maleficent_

There were lights on the horizon, a row of faint gold that marked the presence of land and the life on it. Ulstead. Aurora.

The pain in her body was preferable, more bearable by far, than thoughts of her daughter-

Not her daughter. No more.

Except that excising her was not so easy.

The beach was a study in shades of charcoal and silver, the moon hanging bright behind a diffuse covering of thin cloud. Drumbeats and sweet-scented smoke on the air. The light was soft, glowing. Lambent, Diaval would have said: one of those words that he had learned and loved so well. She could imagine him here, his sleek hair gleaming under the moonlight and his black eyes warm in a way that no eyes had a right to be.

He would be fascinated by the revelation of the Dark Fae, eager to know everything that he could. But still would be at her side more than not.

_‘Not alone now, Mistress.’_

Had she been alone? Yes, for a time. Not for a long time. Diaval, without doubt, would the first to argue (and nag and complain) that she had had a devoted companion for years.

_‘Not so unique, Mistress.’_

Yes, that was more like it. That ridiculous bird would always find a way to comfort her through an insult.

_‘But their feathers don’t shine like yours, and there’s not one of them that could command such a one as my beautiful self.’_

He would look at her, head tilted, that slightly lopsided smile. ‘ _It wouldn’t kill you to join them. And smile. Not too much fang, mind.’_

Maleficent had stopped wondering, long ago, why she was the only one of her kind on the Moors. She had not been unhappy in her childhood and there had always been the Moorfolk about her, but there had been loneliness. Unhappiness had come later, her isolation making her vulnerable. There were still so many questions without answers and she wasn’t sure that she wanted to hear them.

What she was, her heritage, suddenly and unexpectedly laid before her and she was glad of it, truly, but it came with a sense of melancholy.

Maleficent found a piece of curved driftwood and sat heavily, her body still aching from the cruel bite of iron. All those years on the Moors, the times when she would have really needed the Dark Fae and their strength and power. They had only shown themselves to her now because they needed something from her. Until now, it would appear, it had been quite easy to leave her alone. On her own.

Just like it had been easy for Aurora to turn her back on her.

Maybe that was just humans; maybe Aurora was far more like her father, after all, capable of treachery and abandonment; but maybe it was something else.

Maleficent tilted her head back, drew in a breath of the sharp briny air and made herself confront the melancholy thoughts.

Maybe it was something in _her._ Something about her that was so fundamentally unloveable that it had been easy for her kin to leave her on the Moors; easy for Stefan to take her wings; easy for Aurora to turn away from her.

There was a darkness in her and they could see it, they were repelled by it.

The only one who had remained steadfast was her raven, her Diaval-

But of course he would, he was a bird, he was loyal, and he had sworn himself to her. But there were always the things that he seemed to be on the point of saying but never did. Something always stopped him.And that was probably why. He could see it, just like the others could. He could see the rot in her and it silenced him, pushed back anything that he might feel that was more than gratitude and habit.

And yet he stayed...

He was a long-lived raven, she knew; he had outlived all of his unkindness and other ravens viewed him with suspicion and fear. He had to stay with her; he had nowhere else to go.

Better like this, perhaps. Free of her, he would be able to find something of his own. Someone. Given time he would forget her; she would be erased, just like her footprints had already been washed away from the shoreline.

She did not hear feet treading softly across the white sands and when the air stirred beside her she started, felt a sudden dizzying lightness that came with the flash of dark wings, and then recognised Connall and heaviness settled like a stone.

Or not quite, perhaps. Not as bad as before. There was something in his strength and serenity that imbued the very air around him, something that would not allow despair.

He gestured towards her piece of driftwood. ‘You will permit?’

Maleficent inclined her head and watched him as he settled himself, arranging the skirts of his robes with small, precise gestures, the tips of his wings resting on the soft sand.

‘It is good that you are with us at last.’

She stared at him, her head tilting very slightly and her eyes opaque.

He shifted. ‘You must have many questions.’

Her gaze remained on him and then she turned towards the sea, keen eyes trying to pierce the mist that obscured the horizon.

‘None that I care to have answered.’

Silence fell between them, broken only by the sighing of water against the sands.

Connall studied her, the proud profile with her head held high, the moonlight sculpting her face in silver and shadow.

‘We could send word to your...’ He hesitated, watching her and trying to gauge the right word. ‘Your companion. If you wish it, we could bring him here.’

It was an unprecedented gesture. This island was sacred; the ancestral nest had never been touched by any except for their own. But the raven was an oddity, a creature of nature and magic and he had raised the human child alongside the Phoenix.

Connall saw the slight lifting of her head, the catch of her breath and then her face changed again, hardening against something.

Maleficent pushed down the longing, ignored the insistent voice in her head with its gentle lilt and husky tones.

‘That will not be necessary.’

Connall pressed his lips together, uncertain, then nodded.

The tide grew higher, cool waters reclaiming their small stretch of sand. Connall stood and did not make the mistake of offering a hand to her that she would not take. After a time, Maleficent looked up at him with a hint of a question in her eyes.

‘It will be warmer by the fire. I cannot make up for what is past; but be with us now. Come.’

For long moments she sat, her eyes on his face but she didn’t seem to quite see him; and then a twitch at her lips and she stood, inclined her head, and offered him something like a smile that didn’t _quite_ hide her fangs.


	32. Raiders

He had run, once again cursing his heavy human legs, and if anyone had asked he would have said that it was because they had had word of a raid on the Moors and absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Brock, a patriarch of the badger fairies, had told him that he had heard that someone who looked like Maleficent had been seen at the site of the tomb-blooms.

When he saw the devastation there, the desecration of the burial ground, it had almost put it out of his mind. The glowing flowers that had stood as memorials, sentinels, were gone. In their place was darkness and scarred earth.

Diaval had not run all of the way. His man-form was too slow, too heavy, and in the end he had condescended to be lifted into one of Leif’s branches. It did feel natural; and he was a bird, after all, still, despite everything. But he felt a slight resentment that his perch high amongst Leif’s branches and vines was out of necessity rather than choice. He concentrated on keeping himself upright but most of his thoughts lay with the possibility of what he would find. That she was returned, maybe injured, needing aid and care and maybe, finally, she would see that a raven who was more than just a raven could be far more even than that. That he could and would cherish and protect and adore her for all the years of their lives.

If she could see him as a man-

But he wasn’t a man; and then Leif’s jarring gait came to a halt and Diaval slithered down his branches until his feet hit the earth and he saw the ravaged grove and everything else went out of his head.

It was a sacred space, the very air heavy with the memory of the fallen and the soft glow of the tomb-blooms had always been a comfort, a sign that life persisted beyond the bounds of the earth, that the afterlife waited with the eternal promise of warmth and light and love.

All dark. Damaged earth churned up and the flowers gone, their light vanquished. The few heads that remained were crushed and mangled.

But there was a scent on the air, faint and almost indiscernible but he knew it as well as he knew his own feathers. An amber scent, rich and warm. She had been there.

The tree guardian let out a low, wavering note of despair, his gnarled hand raised in a questioning gesture, eyes turned towards Ulstead. 

‘We don’t know that,’ Diaval said and the words felt bitter in his mouth. He knew it. He _knew_. For some reason, despite the years of fragile peace, Ulstead was at the heart of the pillaging of the Moors, the loss of their people. He knew it. But just knowing was not enough and Aurora was there, in the castle, she was to be married the following day-

Diaval passed a hand over his face. His eyes felt gritty with lack of sleep. It was easy as a bird. Night came and he slept, waking with the first lightning of the sky. As a man his head was filled with things he did not always want to think about and sleep proved elusive. He was so very tired. He was so very tired of so very many things.

Faces watched him expectantly, gauzy wings floating on the air, dark eyes glowing from the midst of thickets and spinneys. Frustration speared through. He was neither a ruler nor a guardian. He was just a raven and they had no business leaving all of this to him.

Diaval raised his chin and his voice was firm. ‘Leif, Balthazar - you and the other sentinels keep watch. Everyone else is to return to their homes. There’s nothing to be done here tonight. And we have a wedding tomorrow - we can’t embarrass our queen by not looking our best.’

Trite, perhaps, but it seemed to work. The fairies slipped away, the chatter receding into the familiar rhythms of night. And Diaval made his way back to the palace.

In a room in one of the towers he looked at the array of velvet and leather, always trimmed with feathers shot through with iridescent green, that Maleficent had gifted him over the years. He kept them here rather than cluttering up their cave and Maleficent, too, had taken to storing her own grand gowns here.

It would be ridiculous, he told himself, to bury his face in the silken folds, to inhale her scent that clung, pretend that she was with him, her soft wings closing about him. It was ridiculous. He did it anyway. On his knees, he crushed her silks and velvets in his arms, feeling them against his skin, capturing the lingering scent of her. It wasn’t enough, but it would have to do.

Later he smoothed them out, working each crease with the warmth from his fingers. They would have to be perfect, just the way she had left them. There were a few trinkets, favoured adornments that she had laid carefully in the box that Aurora had given her for the purpose. The grand ladies of Perceforest and Ulstead would have glittering gold and rich jewels; Maleficent had rings fashioned from bird skulls and pieces of antler and-

He hesitated.

A pendant shaped like a feather, her initial scratched on the back. It had almost worn smooth from wear and fingers running over its surface. At some point she had put it on a fresh ribbon; the original had been the same shade as her glorious eyes. It had taken him weeks to find it.

Diaval replaced it carefully in the case, fingers running reverently over the lines, and closed the lid.


	33. The Fall

As she fell, Aurora was aware of little. The scream torn from her throat was involuntary and she stared helplessly at the great winged figure above her, the eyes so strange and so familiar.

The events of the day played themselves out, a blur of fragments and images and it all seemed so horribly like the events of five years before: a curse, severed wings, Phillip’s dear face so bewildered yet so determined, her own loss of faith only this time it was worse, so much worse, and she had no excuse.

At least this time she had not run from the fight. She had saved her people, or rather Diaval had saved them, fur mixed with feathers, bellowing triumph on the air, the soldiers who had nearly crushed him to death moments before fleeing from that huge black shape.

Aurora had never wanted to kill before. She had never longed to be able to take the life of another but seeing her father, her gentle great-hearted Pretty Bird, his talons scoring the earth in a desperate struggle, she had longed for a sword and the skill to destroy the men harming him.

When she had stood on the high white tower with her mother’s ashes warm under her hands she had wanted to feel her fingers tight around Ingrith’s throat. She had looked at the queen, at her pale clammy face and the unholy glitter in those ice-blue eyes and had known that she had to be the one to break her. If the soldiers had not caught her she would have thrown Ingrith’s body from the tower and relished every moment of her fall.

As she now fell herself.

She did not think often of Stefan but in this moment she did, now she thought that despite all her efforts to distance herself, purge herself, he was with her still, the ghost she could not free herself of, and she would share his fate.

She knew the ground was rushing towards her, hard stone waiting to receive her. She saw eyes glowing gold, a love so ferocious in their depths that it burnt. She was folded in velvet wings and she was saved.


	34. Rebirth

‘Look! It’s gone completely.’

Diaval inspected the finger Aurora held up, the pad now clear of the scar that had been the final trace of the sleeping curse. He nodded.

‘About time, too.’

The sky had deepened, the rising moon a pale sliver against the dark wash of blue. Blue was the colour of the day, Aurora thought, fingering the folds of her dress. Flittle. She closed her eyes against the stab of pain.

It had seemed a good idea, a grand statement after the horror of the day. Aurora had not allowed herself too much time to think about it and her joy at taking her vows with Phillip at her side had been absolute. The good wishes bestowed on them had all been heartfelt and it had been - still was - a great celebration.

But as the evening had started to draw in, Aurora was conscious of a melancholy that pressed insistently at the edges of her happiness. So many dead. So much pointless loss. Aurora drew her knees up to her chin, wrapped her arms around them, drawing comfort from her own warmth.

‘There’s always a long time to mourn.’

She turned her eyes to Diaval and pulled up a smile that was wholly affectionate. ‘Are you actually a mind-reader?’ It wouldn’t surprise her; he had always known so much more than he should.

Diaval smiled, black eyes crinkling. ‘Now that would be a grand thing, so it would. I just know you.’ His head tilted and he reached out a hand, brushing the curls away from her cheek as he always had. ‘Maybe it’s a strange way to mark the dead, but I can think of worse ones. And it looks to me like most people want to find a reason to be happy tonight.’

Defiance over death and the poison of Ingrith’s hate. Despite the insidious fear and doubt, despite the wounds that ran deep, the people of Ulstead seemed determined to prove that they were more than just their fallen queen’s spite.

A floral scent on the air, rising from the vines that twined about the castle, wildness overcoming the sterility of the formal gardens. Aurora breathed it in, felt something of home in this rigid white city. But it was not her home and while she was prepared to spend time there for Phillip’s sake and the fragile hope of amity for their kingdoms, she would not give up the Moors for all the wealth and splendour of Ulstead.

Braziers had been lit, sweet smoke rising on the air, the warmth dispelling the chill. Couples followed intricate steps on the stretch of hard green lawn being used for dancing. Groups had formed, humans and fairies mingling and there seemed to be as much curiosity as there was wariness.

Aurora’s wandering gaze found her mother and her mobile mouth quirked into a smile. The dark fairy in her velvet and lace stood with Phillip and King John and though her expression was remote, Aurora recognised it as the one she wore when she was not having a wholly unpleasant time.

Phillip-

Aurora’s breath hitched, the world slipping sideways before righting itself. Phillip. Her husband. A tingle under her skin at the thought. Moorfolk did not have so many conventions around such matters, but Phillip was a human raised in a human world and he was so _proper;_ she had wanted to do right by him, to adhere to the formalities and rituals that he held so high but she wanted him, utterly, and tonight they would give themselves to one another, at long last.

Phillip’s gaze was fixed on his father’s face, watching him as though fearful he would slip away again. Shadows behind his eyes, just as there were behind Aurora’s, she knew, and she stared at Maleficent, at the sharp lines of that extraordinary face and felt again an echo of her grief. She had wanted to kill. She had wanted to die.

As though hearing her thoughts, the dark fairy turned her head sharply, an oddly bird-like movement, and in the same moment Diaval’s arm closed about her shoulders; he held her against his heart and she heard its steady beat under her ear. So much wisdom in the green-gold eyes that fixed on her, and a magisterial calm that seemed new to her mother’s turbulent soul.

Aurora smiled at her, leaning into her father’s embrace and breathing in his familiar scent. He smelt of dawn over the Moors, of its rich soil, of cool air and warm feathers. Maleficent watched them for a moment and whatever she saw settled her; she turned her attention back to the king and her new son-in-law.

‘I think I’ve been usurped,’ Diaval said suddenly, his voice a rumbling rasp under her ear. Startled, with a fierce denial on her tongue, Aurora raised her head. Diaval was staring past her, amusement in his features; she followed his gaze and laughed lightly.

Little Isobel McLeish, her dark curls tumbling about her pretty face, was gazing up at the Dark Fae called Udo with patent adoration and raising her arms to him, demanding to be picked up.

The Tundra Fae, Aurora reminded herself, the most ethereal of her mother’s kin - _her_ kin, even if she had neither wings nor horns - with their silvered hair and eyes as clear blue as the Moorland lakes in winter. They were beings of frost and air but everything in Udo’s proudly sculpted face warmed and softened as he lifted Isobel and submitted to the hard little hands that wrapped about his horns.

Aurora glanced at Diaval and saw the curious expression in his eyes, something pensive and wistful in their depths. Her hand stole into his and when he looked at her his dark gaze shone with tears.

‘You’re all grown up now,’ he said. He brushed the hair from her cheek, his fingers lingering against her skin for a moment.

‘You’ll never be usurped. Not by anyone.’ She twisted her fingers through his and laid her head on his shoulder. ‘Didn’t you ever want hatchlings of your own?’

The force of his disdainful huff almost dislodged her. ‘And what do you think you are?’

‘I meant of your own blood. Hatchlings with wings.’

‘Well... If you think about it, I had a hatchling with wings.’

Frowning, Aurora raised her head. There was the light of mischief in his face as he inclined his own head in Maleficent’s direction. ‘Tantrums, sulks, overreacting...’

Aurora suppressed a breath of laughter. ‘She’ll hear you!’

‘Ah, sure, what’s the worst thing she could do? Turn me into a dog? Again?’

‘I’m sure she would never do that,’ Aurora said earnestly.

There was pity now in his look. ‘Are you now? And if it wasn’t a nasty smelly beast of a hound she was after turning me into on the the very night you met us? She called it a wolf but it’s the same thing, so it is.’

Every moment of that night was clear in her mind, as vivid as one of her picture books and as immutable. She shook her head. ‘I don’t remember a dog. Wolf,’ she corrected, hastily.

‘Ah, well. You may have been just a little bit...’ He studied his talons.

‘A bit?’

He blew put a breath down his nose. ‘Asleep.’

‘Of course,’ she said, flat, and then they both laughed.

It seemed a lifetime ago. She had been a naïve country girl. Now she was a queen, the wife of a prince, would one day be the queen of a second kingdom. Not as innocent as she used to be; she couldn’t yet decide if that was a good thing.

Isobel had released Udo and when her sparkling grey gaze fell on Diaval she let out a shriek of delight, barrelled across the grass into his arms.

Aurora grinned at him across the top of Isobel’s curly head. ‘Told you.’

* * *

Couples came together and parted, formal steps combined with flashing eyes, coy smiles and flirtations.

Diaval did not claim any expertise in human dancing, but he found it an enjoyable diversion and the music was pleasant, even if it lacked the resonant cadences of a raven’s song. He bowed to his partner in the approved style - no-one could ever accuse a raven of not doing things properly - and made his way to the edge of the dance floor.

‘I should have known,’ a familiar, mellow, voice said, ‘that it would be an eventful wedding.’

He turned and found Sir Angus McLeish observing him wryly, his fine clothes still streaked with dust from the day’s battle.

‘Elements in Ulstead, you said. _Elements!?_ ’

The First Minister flinched slightly. ‘I know. But I didn’t _know._ I’d have told you if I had, man!’

Diaval’s mouth quirked in a smile. ‘To be fair, King John didn’t know, so we can probably forgive you a lack of omniscience.’

Amusement creased the lean cheeks. Over the years, Sir Angus had become accustomed to being in conversation with a raven - he had not, however, quite become accustomed to the extensive vocabulary that could be acquired by a clever bird wearing a man’s skin.

Caught in the line of human dignitaries denied entry to the castle for the wedding, Sir Angus and his family along with the Lennoxes had witnessed at first hand the carnage and chaos wrought on the streets of Ulstead. Missiles from the fortifications that landed in the town, the Queen of Ulstead inflicting more damage on her own people than any invader. And the sky suddenly dark with great wings; these beings with their horns and frighteningly piercing eyes who looked so like Maleficent but weren’t Maleficent and so many of them had shielded, bodily, the townsfolk from falling stone and flame.

From the brink of destruction and a potential war that would have laid waste to lands beyond Ulstead and the Moors, to a celebration of peace and unity was a little hard to take. But there were worse ends to a day, Sir Angus reflected, and he had seen those ends before under the reign of another monarch whose days had been coloured by vengeance and hatred.

‘Why are they called Dark Fae?’

Diaval shrugged slightly. ‘I don’t know.’

Sir Angus looked about the softly lit gardens, at the bright eyes that held an unearthly glow, at feathers that covered the spectrum from pure white, through tawny tones to the deepest brown and then the dazzling array of multi-coloured wings. ‘It doesn’t suit them,’ he pronounced.

A breath of laughter met this and, like his friend, Diaval surveyed the newcomers. They were certainly striking but not one of them, in his opinion, matched Maleficent for beauty. But he had to agree that Dark Fae did not seem the most fitting name for these glowing creatures.

Except for one, perhaps. A glowering presence, arms folded across his muscular chest and an expression of disdain on his face that bordered on hostility. Borra. He was sure that was the name. The Dark Fae male had stood apart from his brethren, apart from humans most certainly, and few had approached him. His gold eyes were as sharp as his cheekbones and Diaval admitted, grudgingly, that he could probably be considered handsome. Even if he did look as though he had taken a dust bath and neglected to shake himself off afterwards.

But there was something else, something besides belligerence in the set of his wings and the lines of his shoulders. Diaval had not spent twenty years at Maleficent’s side without learning how to read her and he saw the same signs now. Fear, more than outright animosity. It almost made him pity the Dark Fae but another instinct, something far older, something that ran deep in his raven sensibilities, revelled in the man’s discomfort.

The feathers lying across his scalp prickled and Diaval was aware of the desire to puff them up, to make himself seem larger and more intimidating than he actually was. Vaguely he wondered at what it was about this Dark Fae male that preyed on his instincts and in the same moment reminded himself that you did not have to be the biggest raven, nor the strongest, to be victorious.

Victorious in what, under the present circumstances, Diaval was not sure and he was glad of the distraction of another familiar face heading towards them.

Hugh Lennox, now General of the Perceforest army and a valued advisor to the First Minister, grinned at Diaval and Sir Angus genially, his torn jacket and scratched face testament to his own instinctive action in the battle that day.

‘It’s a grand cèilidh,’ he announced, his sandy hair falling untidily into his eyes. ‘Good to see you’re all in one piece.’

‘And you,’ Diaval replied, with feeling.

Sir Angus made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat, his attention focused on the large goblets that Lennox had in each hand and from which he was drinking alternately. Slowly, he raised his eyes to the soldier’s face. ‘Now why didn’t I think of that?’

‘See, that’s what comes of having your nose stuck in ledgers all the live-long day instead of roughing it down in the barracks.’ Lennox grinned again, unrepentant, took a large gulp of a drink and sighed with satisfaction.

Sir Angus peered at the remnants clinging to the sides of his own goblet and then scanned the crowds.

‘What are you looking for?’

‘The laddie with the tray,’ he told Diaval.

Lennox shook his head, pitying. ‘You’ll be waiting a long time. You need to stake a place by the table where they pour the stuff out, man.’

The First Minister regarded the General with evident admiration. ‘I knew there’s a reason I usually take your advice. Come on.’ An expansive gesture that encompassed the soldier and the raven.

‘Uh...’ Diaval’s face creased. ‘I don’t drink that stuff.’

He fell back half a step as his companions swung back around. The pair exchanged glances; it was Lennox who spoke.

‘You have two hands, don’t you? Now that’s two hands that could be used for holding two drinks for your mates.’

‘Mates,’ Diaval repeated, slowly.

‘Aye, mates. You know: _friends_. We’d do as much for you.’

‘Yes,’ Sir Angus added. ‘We’d certainly hold some ... mice ... for you.’

Lennox’s eyes slid sideways and Sir Angus shrugged helplessly.

Diaval laughed at the irresistible mental image such a proposition offered. ‘Well, when you put it like that - lead on!’ As they started to move he added, ‘Y’know, where I come from “mates” has a very different meaning...’

* * *

Fireworks tore across the sky, bursts of light against the dark that drew gasps and cheers from the audience on the ground. Residual smoke threaded through the trees and the great boughs of twining vines, fireflies glinting through the haze.

Having left Lennox and Sir Angus in happy conversation by the steady flow of wine, Diaval edged around the dance floor, making his way back to Maleficent. She sat, her face soft and unguarded, with Aurora at her feet; the golden head was resting on Maleficent’s knee and she stroked her daughter’s hair tenderly, all hurt and misunderstanding between them gone as easily as the morning mist burnt off by the sun. It gladdened his heart to see it. Perhaps his was a small world, made up of simple pleasures but why wish for anything greater when it gave him everything he wanted.

Almost everything.

His view and his progress were suddenly impeded by a wall of feather and muscle. Diaval blinked, his head tilting inquisitively at his unexpected interlocutor.

Arms folded across his chest, his chin held high, Borra stared at Diaval, his sharp eyes taking in every detail and narrowing slightly as though trying to work something out.

‘So,’ he said, ‘you’re the crow.’

‘Raven,’ Diaval said patiently.

And you didn’t have to be the biggest, he reminded himself, nor the strongest.

Borra looked at him consideringly. ‘Ravens are clever birds.’

‘We are that,’ he replied, without any attempt at modesty.

‘But still just a bird. It must be difficult, living in Maleficent’s shadow.’

Diaval’s eyes widened fractionally, a glimmer flaming in their depths. And then he laughed, as he always did, head thrown back until all the air in his lungs was gone. He dragged in a breath, felt it rasping in his throat.

Disconcerted and with annoyance spiking, Borra’s face tightened, his hands balling. ‘Why do you laugh?’

For a moment, Diaval did not trust himself to speak and when he did his breath was still hitching. He wiped his eyes. ‘Sorry, it’s just... Her _shadow_...’ He righted himself, his face suddenly serious but his black eyes snapped. ‘I don’t. But I can see how _you_ might feel that way.’

A touch more arrogance and Diaval might have given the fae a sympathetic clap on one of his brawny biceps; he made do with shaking his head and continuing his path towards his waiting family.

Aurora had sat up and two pairs of eyes fixed on him questioningly as he threw himself down on the long soft grass beside the young queen.

‘I didn’t think,’ Maleficent said, her clear voice measured, ‘that you would find Borra so amusing in conversation.’

He peered up at her; from his vantage point her face was upside down but no less lovely for that.

‘Ah now, that’s where you’re wrong - he’s a very funny man. Although,’ he admitted after a moment, ‘maybe not intentionally.’

Maleficent’s long fingers linked together in her lap. ‘What were you talking about?’

‘Not much...’ He sat up, crossing his long legs. ‘He’s not really a great one with the talking; I imagine it would get a bit repetitive after a while. “Let me tell you about the time I hit someone very hard. And there was this other time I hit someone else very hard...”’

Maleficent’s lips twitched despite herself.

‘He looks like a warrior,’ Aurora said, trying to study the towering Dark Fae without looking as though she were.

‘And I’m sure he’ll let you know it.’ Diaval looked at him critically - and made no attempt to hide it. ‘Warrior or not, you’d have thought that he’d at least have done something about his wings, run a talon through them, at least. Mind you, the state of his talons he’d probably just make the wings worse- Oh, Fechín, he’s coming over.’ He aimed a particularly poisonous glance a the winged figure who had detached himself from the crowd and was indeed following a path towards them. ‘ _A reithi folta fasaigh ar fiadh_.’

Aurora made a slight choking sound. Diaval pushed himself up, brushing off his hands. ‘Looks like they’ve put out more food - I’ll see what they’re offering now.’

Maleficent’s green-gold gaze followed his retreating shape and then turned on her daughter. Aurora was struggling with her self-control - and she had, Maleficent knew, made some efforts to learn the old language of her father. One elegant eyebrow arched.

‘What did he call him?’

‘I, uh...’ A gurgle of laughter in Aurora’s throat. ‘I think it was: You moulting desert ram.’

A sharp breath and Maleficent tilted her head back, teeth clamped together. She’d pluck his prized black feathers as though he were a chicken, she thought, that _appalling_ raven. Far too full of himself, too sure of himself-

His face before her and that slight, uncertain smile of his and his black eyes soft. She thought of him as he been only moments before at her feet and she imagined lying with him in the long grass, drawing him into the velvet shelter of her wings, making him hers in so many different ways.

Maleficent shook her head sharply, dismissing the image. She had told him she had missed him and he had made a joke of it, sparing both of them the humiliation of her saying anything more. And yet the tender expression in his eyes, in the lines of that handsome face... But her judgement about so many things had been wrong so many times.

A large body before her and Maleficent blinked, her wings ruffling in irritation.

Everything about Borra was angular, even his face was composed of a series of planes and his eyes were a hard glitter. His feathers were indeed dusty and some of the long primaries were broken, sticking out at strange angles. He wore them like a prize, battle honours in his long campaign against all humankind. He turned his head fractionally, looked down at the Queen of the Moors who was still sprawled lazily against the sweet-scented grass and in his insolent stare was a menace that would have quailed many.

Aurora returned it candidly and then the corners of her mobile mouth quirked and she seemed to stifle a cough. ‘I think I’ll give Father a hand,’ she murmured to Maleficent, inclined her head to Borra and then fled before the laughter bubbled up.

 _Traitor_ , Maleficent thought, watching her go with a spear of apprehension and then tensed as Borra placed himself at her side. He seemed to take up an inordinate amount of room. She held herself tight, fingers curling hard around her staff.

Borra observed the bright golden hair as Aurora darted through the crowds towards Diaval.

‘She seems...’ He searched for a word. ‘Nice.’

‘ _She_ is my daughter. Her name is Aurora. Queen of the Moors.’ Maleficent turned to him, studying his face. ‘If you cannot accept that...’ She sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. When she continued, her tone was more gentle, a softness in her voice. ‘It’s time to bring your- _our_ people home. But Aurora is our queen and that will not change.’

His lips were a thin line; then, eventually: ‘I can accept that.’

A pause. She nodded. ‘Good.’

* * *

Maleficent did not feel entirely at her ease in Borra’s company. He had a way of looking at her that she found profoundly unsettling and it was with relief that she was able to extricate herself from the somewhat stilted conversation he had attempted to engage her in. She was fully aware of what lay behind his attentions and the heat in his gaze. She did not welcome them. His call for action, for vengeance and destruction in the wake of Connall’s death had answered a need in her and she had gladly adopted the warpaint and fury of the Dark Fae.

Her anger gone, washed away by Aurora’s tears.

There was little remembrance of those moments between death and life: Aurora’s face fading from her vision; overwhelming grief that was not her own; the glorious fire of life and a love that burnt through her. She felt a strange sort of calm, something anchored within her.

There was also a restlessness, it ran under her skin, circled about her heart and it was connected - she knew, although she would claim not to know why - with a pair of bird-bright black eyes. The same eyes that she had felt on her all through her conversation (if you could all it that) with Borra.

Borra.

Shrike had told her that Borra’s mother had been taken by a human when he was still a child. He had reasons for his anger, but Maleficent had enough darkness of her own - she had no need for his.

The crowds parted before her. Not quite the screaming fear and pitchforks of last time, but neither was it the reasonably good-willed tolerance of Perceforest. People were wary, if not necessarily aggressive. But she held no illusions that the peace that Aurora and, yes, Phillip - she had to admit, with reluctance - so craved would be easily won.

Maleficent located Aurora, the girl swaying gently in time to the music and watching something in the swirl of dancers. She was smiling and when she saw Maleficent approach, her face was radiant.

Maleficent submitted to her embrace, but her eyes wandered, impatient. ‘I though Diaval would be devouring everything the cooks could supply.’

Aurora paused. ‘He did...’ Her eyes drifted towards the dancers. ‘He’s, uh...’

A long pause followed, during which Maleficent’s only movement was the tightening of her fingers around her staff.

He had improved since he had danced with Aurora on the banks of the stream in the Moors. Light-footed and graceful, he drew attention for his ability rather than the lack of it. His current partner certainly appeared to enjoy her time going through the steps, turns and passes with him. She was not just his current partner, Maleficent knew and the knowledge pricked at her, he had danced with her at least twice before.

‘Who is that?’

There was a tautness in her face that few would have noticed; but Aurora did and the long-cherished hope that she had tried to abandon so many times before came to life once again.

‘Her name is Sofia. Countess... Something or other; I can’t remember what. She’s a lady-in-waiting. Well, she was.’ Aurora glanced at her mother, her father, and back. ‘Quite a few ladies of the court have been asking about his beautiful self.’

‘I see.’

She was beautiful, this Countess Something. A tiny creature with shimmering dark tresses and huge eyes as black and lustrous as Diaval’s own, like a pretty she-raven made into a woman. Of course, that would be what he wanted, someone delicate, bird-like, untainted.

Maleficent watched as the girl laughed up into his face and then raised a hand to his black hair, running her fingers over the smooth feathers and she sucked in a breath. She was practically _preening_ him and he was _letting_ her.

Aurora heard the hiss of breath, saw the hardening in her mother’s sharp features and her smile faded, her shoulders slumping slightly. Why did she always think that it would be easy? But it _should_ be easy, these two people who had endured so much and endured it together, who had loved so well.

For the queen of a vast and powerful realm, Aurora’s ambitions may have been counted as small: to rule well, to love her subjects, to be loved in return. To be happy. They were small ambitions only to the foolish and the blind. Wealth and power could be easily won and just as easily lost. What Aurora wanted, what she had, was harder to gain but would endure. She wanted it for her parents, the two dearest beings in all the world to her.

She saw the closed expression on her mother’s face, the flatness of her eyes that extinguished the brilliance of green-rimmed gold and she felt again the grief of so many years before when she had cried herself to sleep at the realisation that her favourite romance was an illusion.

There were many things that Aurora wanted to say and she readied herself for them, prepared herself for a battle that would probably be harder than facing swords and fire and blood. But as she was about to speak her words there was a distraction, a touch at her hand and, turning, she found Phillip and he was looking at her as though he could see nothing else in the whole world but her.

He cleared his throat. ‘Would you... It seemed a good time...’ He righted himself. ‘I thought that we might withdraw.’

Aurora caught her breath and didn’t pretend not to understand him. Colour flooded her face and then receded, leaving her pale and trembling and her eyes star-bright and no other thought in her head.

‘Yes,’ she murmured, and half-turned towards Maleficent. ‘Goodnight, Mother.’

Maleficent watched the golden head disappear into the crowd. Her shining girl still hers, always, but also now someone else’s and she was still not certain how she felt about that. Less fearful than before but still unsure. And Maleficent disliked uncertainty.

Aurora was lost to her sight and she turned her restless gaze back to the dance floor and watched Diaval, her raven, her everything she had ever needed, watched as he looked down at the dark-haired beauty whose eager laughing face was turned up to his.

Maleficent turned away.

The edges of Ulstead leading to the waters that separated them from the Moors were dark and quiet and they suited her mood. She stood on the bank and studied the way the moonlight picked out ripples across the water’s surface.

Long moments she stood until something in the air about her changed and she turned to face the man watching her, waiting, as he always did. Maleficent studied him, the inky blackness of his costume rimmed with soft feathers, the pale gleam of his skin as though he had been sculpted from moonlight. Or starlight, perhaps, remembering the stories of his ancestors. And his black eyes burnt so very bright.

There was a softness in them now, a question and still he waited and Maleficent had the thought that it was here, in front of her, that she could have everything she wanted and all she had to do was reach out and take it.

There was a flare in his dark depths, a catch of breath as though had heard her thoughts and Maleficent pulled herself back, her hands balling, knuckles whitening under the pressure.

Her chin lifted. ‘Tomorrow I will return to the island. I need- I want to know more of my ancestors.’

Diaval nodded. His lack of surprise was maddening. ‘Time to get my feathers in order, then. I wouldn’t want to go showing you up.’

Another moment that stretched.

‘No.’

‘What?’

She kept her head high and the words that came out were tight, bitten off. ‘Aurora will need you. And the Moors need a leader. And I should imagine that after today there will be ... things ... for you to do in Perceforest.’

Diaval stood so very still that it seemed as though time had stopped. Not even breath rose and fell in his chest.

‘I see. And I do this as a raven, do I?’

One hand moved, irritable, a denial on her lips that remained unspoken as muscle bunched across his jaw.

‘You can’t take my wings from me.’

The words fell like a blow.

Music trickled through the air, riding on the scents of night blooms. They were but a few feet apart yet he had never felt so far from her.

‘No,’ she said, her voice quiet. She turned, her great wings beating the air.

Diaval braced himself against the down draft and watched as she faded into the night.

* * *

In the darkness of the Moors, leavened only by the glow of fireflies and night sprites, and with the towering mass of the palace rising behind her, Maleficent sat on the banks of the stream.

The sky was deep, the velvet of blue of pre-dawn before the night would sink under the encroaching sun. The dark suited her mood, its deep shadows offering the sanctuary and concealment that had served her well for so long.

There was no familiar rush of wings, no soughing of feather against the night air but there were footfalls that she knew just as well. Maleficent pushed herself up, turning just as he stepped into the clearing, the moonlight liquid silver across his black hair.

‘So. You managed to make it home even without wings.’

Diaval pulled in a breath. ‘I got a lift from Balthazar.’ He was a study in assumed dignity.

Her lips curled slightly. ‘I take it you mean _on_ Balthazar.’

He glared at her.

‘I’m sure he carried you as tenderly as though you were his very own sapling.’

She waited for the argument that didn’t come, for the cutting words designed to hide all of the things that they never said. Diaval remained silent and in the end Maleficent blew out a breath and felt the loss of something that she could not name.

‘Was being a bear everything you thought it would be?’

He paused, watching her; then: ‘Why are we talking about bears?’ There was, at least, a glimmer in his eyes and her lips softened in response, the faintest of smiles.

‘I have a gift for you.’

It glittered between her hands and he was immediately transfixed, his head tilting, eyes bright, following its shine.

‘What is it?’

‘Take it.’

If he did hesitate it was momentary and then he took a step towards her, took the fragile globe with its shell of shimmering gold and held it with a gentle reverence. Maleficent placed her hands over his, pressing against them, increasing the pressure until the globe burst and the gold sank into his skin.

Maleficent released his hands, dropped back a step and watched in fascination as gold light shivered across him, criss-crossing threads that thickened, burned brighter and ever brighter before a sudden rush together and upwards, meshing above him into a familiar form.

Against the dark night stretched golden wings and fiercely glowing eyes set in the curves of a bird’s face that she knew so well. And as Maleficent watched she felt a tearing fear, terror that her gift had resulted in the worst of all consequences.

The gold raven opened its beak, a silent cawing sent up to the skies and then it sank down, settling into the frame of the dark-haired man who stood before her.

Diaval stared at her, gold rimming his black eyes, snapping, before receding again. ‘ _Now_ what have you done to my beautiful self?’

She released the breath she didn’t realise she had been holding and it rattled through her chest, her heart pounding so hard it choked her. When her words came her voice was strained. ‘Something I should have done a long time ago.’ His head tilted again, waiting, and there was the thought that were so very many things that she should have done, should have said. ‘Your form is what you will it. Be it feather, fur, scale or skin, it is as you desire.’

There was silence for a time.

‘So,’ he said, slow, ‘so, I can change myself? Whatever I want to be?’

Maleficent inclined her head.

‘Anything at all?’

‘Anything. But don’t-’

She realised too late and already black smoke billowed about him. Maleficent could only watch as the dark shape expanded, colossal, smoke and feathers eddying on the night air and she heard his hoarse raven’s cry turn to a different, shriller sound.

There was a note of defiance in the strange, trumpeting noise he made when his transformation was complete. Fairies tumbled out of their beds in fright, their musical voices raised in complaint. And then silenced when they saw the strange hulking beast that had roused them.

As an elephant, Diaval’s hide was black; a tuft of feathers rose on the dome of his head and then followed a pattern down behind his great ears that he flapped experimentally. His tusks gleamed a pearl’s lustre under the moonlight and there was something distinctly beak-like about the mouth that was visible when he swung his trunk.

Maleficent pinched the bridge of her nose, her eyes screwed shut - and flinched as another elephantine bugle pierced the air.

Then another rush of smoke and when Diaval fell forward a step, his eyes bright, there was a wholly unrepentant grin on his face. He glanced at the silent thickets and inclined his head slightly.

‘Sorry for anyone’s sleep that got disturbed.’

‘You’re not even a little bit sorry,’ she said severely.

He offered her one of his most charming smiles. ‘No, but they don’t need to know that.’

On the banks of the stream they faced one another, still, and still distance between them.

‘What was it Borra said that you found so amusing?’

‘Oh, that.’

‘Yes, _that._ ’

His lips pressed together momentarily. ‘He said I must get tired living in your shadow.’

It was not what she was expecting. Maleficent blinked. And felt a surge of anger at the Desert Fae and his arrogance. ‘And this is funny?’

‘Hilarious, Mistress. I’ve never lived in your shadow - I live in your light.’

She caught her breath again. And it was just the strangeness of the pre-dawn light, probably, most likely, but otherwise she may have thought that she could see points of colour flaring in his pale cheeks, slowly spreading down his neck and even to the tips of his ears.

Diaval coughed slightly, a rasp in his throat, tongue darting out to moisten his lips. ‘It's an early start you’ll be having, Mistress.’

A pause.

‘Yes.’

‘You’ll be needing your sleep, then.’

‘I suppose.’

His transformation was a more familiar one this time and he still wheeled about her as she took to the air, heading back to their cliff. Once there, Diaval hopped into the cave, took his place at the edge of the nest and nuzzled his head against his back. From time to time through the blue hours that remained of the night, Maleficent glanced at his still form and the one glassy black eye that she could see. He showed no awareness of her. She did not sleep.


	35. Toll

The chapel was unnervingly quiet, the silence broken only by the creak of wood and the stir of leaves that would not ordinarily be there. The air still held the metallic tang of iron.

Aurora stepped carefully, avoiding treading on any of the grasses and flowers that were rooted between the flagstones. The creatures of the Moors had come from root and branch, from the water, earth and air and those caught in Ingrith’s trap had been returned to their primitive state. They lived, after a fashion, but who they were, what they had become, had been taken from them.

The central space was filled by a mighty trunk and spreading branches, the tapering twigs at the extremities bending against the confines of the chapel walls.

Aurora laid her hand against the rough bark, felt the grain under her fingers. Leif, always so fierce in his devotion and so gentle in his handling of the tiny creatures under his protection. She had danced with him on her coronation day, had spent so many hours climbing his branches and more often than not found Diaval roosting somewhere in Leif’s foliage. So still now. He would always be so still.

A sound seemed to rise from the earth, deep and lowing and it coloured the air with grief. Balthazar, mourning his brother, his ancient song filling the chapel, pressing against her ears, against her chest and Aurora choked with it, pressure behind her eyes that felt no release.

She stumbled on, making herself look at every bloom, saying the names of who they had been. So many. More than she had realised. Her eyes burned, a molten lump in her throat that would not give way.

And there, around the organ, against the dark wood and metal, was a flood of blue. Aurora remembered chasing blue butterflies through a meadow, learning how to keep bees and harvest their honey, showing drawings that would be pinned to the cottage walls. Her Aunt Flittle, always a little vague and dreamy but so very kind and Aurora had loved her so much.

Breath wrenched in her chest, tearing, and the pain of it was more bearable than her grief. Aurora wept.

From the organ loft, two winged figures descended; for a moment they fluttered about Aurora’s head, then something shivered on the air. Human-sized, Knotgrass and Thistlewit stood with her, held her, and they mourned.

From the chapel entrance, Diaval had watched Aurora’s sombre progress and he withdrew when he saw her in her aunts’ arms. He hurt for her but her grief was not his grief and he would not intrude.

The morning sea mist that had shrouded the castle at dawn had burnt off under the blazing sun, the sky wide and blue. It was a beautiful day and it seemed horribly at odds with the mood that hung across the spires and battlements, seeping down into the winding streets beyond the castle. The stone walls still wore the green vines and exuberant blooms of Maleficent’s conjuring, but under the bright sun the scars of battle were visible. The fallen ramparts, the broken tower, the scored earth. A single bell tolled, a call for the dead, its deep note falling like stone.

Diaval blinked against the brightness, the sun bouncing off metal armour. His eyes stung with it. And he saw another figure wandering aimlessly.

Phillip’s face wore a dazed expression, a man woken to find that the horrors he had dreamt of were real. When he reached Diaval he stared at him as though he didn’t know him.

‘She did this. All of this- All of the dead... She did this.’

Tethered in a stable, given a bed of straw, Ulstead’s beautiful, terrible queen still in her she-goat skin. Yesterday it had seemed fitting, funny even. But she still lived, still drew breath. Death would, perhaps, have been too easy an end but it would have been a far cleaner one for those who would carry the weight of where Ingrith’s hate had led them.

Diaval had always been clever with words. He loved the sound of them, the feel of them in his mouth. They were his weapons and his tools. There were no words to be found now, no comfort for this boy whom he still thought of as little more than a child.

A child, a boy, no more. A man, who had proved his good heart.

Diaval laid a hand on Phillip’s shoulder, talons pressing through the fine lawn shirt.

Phillip’s eyes turned to him, focussing. ‘There must be a new alliance. Ulstead. The Moors. Perceforest. We must stand together, something built on peace and-and _respect_ , so that this- This can never happen again. Will you help me, Diaval?’

Surprise flitted across his face. ‘Yes, of course.’

The young prince nodded. ‘Thank you.’

They stood in the shadow of the chapel, Diaval’s hand still steady on Phillip’s shoulder and dropping only when gravel crunched behind them and Aurora stepped through the portico. Her face was taut.

‘They found the body of- That woman. Gerda. She doesn’t belong there. Not with my people.’

‘I’ll see to it.’ Phillip’s eyes slid past her and he was already moving. ‘Percival!’

Aurora turned to Diaval, trying to keep her chin held high and a smile just for him. She would show him her courage and her strength, show her worth. Her face crumpled. Diaval took her in his arms and held his child against his heart.


	36. The Raven's Rose

Aurora made her way up the stone steps that curled around the tower of her Moorland palace. Most days she ran up, feet light and nimble; but the air was oppressively heavy and her limbs felt leaden, her thin gown sticking uncomfortably to her body. She pulled limp locks of her hair from the back of her neck. The sky was leaden, bruised purple with angry clouds that had been gathering for days but had not yet broken.

Part way up she paused, pulled in thin breaths; and then her attention was caught by the roses growing around the balustrade. A red so deep it was like blood and the edges of each petal were rimmed ebony. She pinned a few of the heads to her dress, drinking in their heady scent.Aurora turned her eyes to the horizon and for a moment the sky bleached white; she held her breath, counting the seconds, and then it came, a delicate rumble across the earth and perhaps it was her imagination but could swear that a breath of coolness pierced the weighted heat.She continued up to the pavilion.

The mossy flooring was sweet-smelling, soft and springy between her toes. Aurora felt some of the tensions of the day ease from her shoulders as she wandered towards the high windows. There _was_ a breath of cool, she was sure of it. The pavilion was swaddled in the dimness of storm-laden light and so Aurora did not notice at first the figure at one of the windows, leaning against the wall and staring out towards where the sea bounded the Moors and then beyond that was the unknowable and somewhere, perhaps further even than that, was the ancestral island where Maleficent had gone.

Diaval was so still that he seemed more carved sentinel than living being and Aurora was about to creep away again, leave him to his vigil, when he said: ‘Don’t you even say hello these days?’

She huffed out a laugh. ‘Of course I do - I just thought that you might want to be alone.’

He turned then, his eyebrows climbing. ‘Alone, is it? I’m not a crow!’

Aurora nodded gravely. ‘But even ravens might like a little peace and quiet from time to time, wouldn’t they?’ She watched him for a moment. ‘What _are_ you doing up here on your own?’

A faint quirk at his lips and something so fleeting that passed across his face. ‘I just wanted to get away.’

‘From what?’

Swathed in light and shadow, his eyes were bright and hard and unblinking. Then he smiled slightly. ‘I forget. So, it must have worked.’ His head tilted. ‘Why are you here?’

‘Oh…’ She played with a ribbon on her dress, winding it about her fingers until it pulled tight, biting into the flesh. Aurora started to speak, stopped, started again: ‘I had written to Sir Angus about the bridge to Ulstead. I wanted his advice. He wrote back.’

Diaval waited.

‘And?’

She released the ribbon, her fingers flexing. ‘He counsels that we should wait until the situation in Ulstead is more stable.’

‘Ah.’

Aurora pulled air that still tasted horribly thick and heavy into her lungs. ‘I thought building a bridge would help make things more stable. If we all worked together for one common purpose-’ She paused, shaking her head helplessly. ‘I don’t remember it being like this in Perceforest. I know it wasn’t just straightforward but I don’t remember it being this hard. Is that just me? Am I remembering it all wrong?’

Diaval caught hold of her hand, pulling her down to sit on the wide ledge in the embrasure.

‘No,’ he said with as much gentleness as he could, ‘I don’t think you’re remembering it wrong.’

Perhaps Perceforest had never really been riven by the fear and hatred that infected Ulstead, or perhaps they had just been too worn down by Stefan’s reign, but it had been different in Perceforest. There had been deserters from the Ulstead army and even some of the noble houses had fallen silent, taking their riches across borders to find sanctuary in some other land. And then there was Ingrith herself and the question of what to do with her. Imprisonment or exile risked turning her into a martyr and rallying more supporters to her cause; putting her on trial would give her an audience for her appalling beliefs, but who would be her judge? King John, he knew, had little appetite for it and there was still too much mistrust for his Privy Council to entrust the job to them. Ingrith could not have acquired so much iron, so many weapons, could not have constructed such an arsenal with only Gerda’s assistance. There had to have been others, and even with some nobles fled it was feared that many of Ingrith’s acolytes still walked the halls of Ulstead’s castle.

But while she was yet trapped in her goat form, there was nothing that they could do with her. A solution of sorts, but a temporary one only.

The fragile peace of Aurora’s wedding day was holding but it would not take much to shatter it once more, and Diaval feared that Aurora’s pushing for the bridge would only result in resentment on both sides. For his own part, he was not sure that providing such ease of access to a kingdom that had defined itself by its militaristic endeavours was a wise idea. Not yet, at any rate.

‘You agree with him, don’t you?’

Silence stretched between them; Diaval sighed. ‘I do. It’s too soon. I understand what you want and I understand why you want it now - but some things just happen in their own time.’

She nodded. ‘I know.’ She sounded defeated and he really hated that. Aurora stared out to the horizon. ‘I wish she was here.’

It twisted around his heart but he didn’t pretend not to understand who she meant.

‘I don’t think Maleficent would say anything different.’

Aurora blinked slowly and then smiled. ‘Probably not. But I wish she was here, just the same.’

The sky flashed white, thunder rolling around the stone towers and from the earth rose a fresh, musky scent; Aurora felt coolness against her heated cheeks and when the first drop splashed against the palace wall with its softly clinging ivy the relief felt more than she could bear. She breathed in air that tasted of rain, sweet against her tongue.

Clouds so low and sky so dark that she could no longer see the horizon; the seas beyond their borders would be yet more storm-tossed than the wind-wracked trees, there would be no creature on the wing in such a tempest. No point in keeping vigil, yet still she stood at the window and waited for what she knew would not come. The Dark Fae arriving on the Moors to make their home had spoken of the Phoenix and Aurora had welcomed them, given them all the aid and love she could and had hoped each time that there would be a message. There was none. She waited. And Diaval waited. And she saw the hope diminish in his eyes and it was unendurable.

‘It’s my fault.’ Rain drummed against the palace walls, hitting the windowsill like shards of stone. It muffled her words and Diaval peered at her through the gloom.

‘What is?’

‘That mother has been away so long. That she left.’

He was shaking his head before she had finished speaking. ‘Of course it’s not. Sure if you hadn’t patched it all up before your wedding.’

‘I know that. And yes, of course we had. I didn’t mean that; I-’ She couldn’t read his expression and for once she was glad of it. ‘She saw you dancing with Sofia. At my wedding.’ He stared at her, blank. ‘Sofia… You danced with her quite a lot.’

Diaval’s face cleared fractionally. ’That funny little thing that would put you in mind of a sparrow?’

Aurora almost laughed but did not quite make it. ‘Yes. She’s considered a great beauty. She _is_ beautiful, and- And I just thought that…’

‘You thought what?’

Her shoulders sagged. ‘I thought that if mother could see you the way that- Well, lots of court ladies _had_ been asking about you and they _did_ think you very handsome!’

‘And you thought that Maleficent would be jealous of _that_?’

‘And she was! At least…’ She deflated. ‘Well, she was angry…’

‘Aurora…’ Pained, he turned from her.

‘I’m sorry! I just thought that if she could see what everyone else saw that- Well, that she’d do something about it.’

‘Oh and she did that all right.’

Swallowed in the shadows his voice emerged, a rough rasp that had lost most of its habitual velvet. She could hear his footfalls as he paced the length of the pavilion and back.

‘You can’t make someone love.’

‘But she does love you,’ she said it quietly, more to herself, but it fell into the silence and she heard him catch a breath.

‘Maybe. But there’s different kinds of love.’

Sitting under a spreading oak tree, his arm about her and wiping away her tears; the memory of it still ached but it was a dull, old ache. ‘You told me that before.’

He shrugged, one shoulder raising and dropping. ‘It was true then and it’s true now. Devoting yourself to someone, no matter what, no matter how impossible they are, how angry you get with them and not asking for anything in return. Or making someone more than they could ever be, trusting them with everything when everything has been taken away from you. Giving someone freedom and not asking what they’ll do with it. That’s all part of it, Aurora. Maybe it isn’t romantic, or what people think is romantic; I don’t know. But I do know that love isn’t just kisses and flowers. Not even those flowers.’ He paused. ‘Do you know what they are?’

Her fingers went to the soft petals pinned to her bodice. ‘They’re roses.’

He was close to her again, black eyes shining bird-bright. ‘They’re the raven’s rose.’ One talon ran gently along a petal’s black-tipped edge. ‘It’s a love story. The greatest love story for all ravenkind.’

‘Tell me.’

His hand dropped. ‘It’s a ballad really, and a long one. There isn’t really the time.’

‘Tell me anyway. Just the story of it.’

‘Well... All right. But it loses something in the translation, mind.’ He joined her again on the wide low seat at the window and she settled back, expectant.

‘Aimhirghin was not the biggest raven in his unkindness. He was small, but he was sleek and he was fast and there was not a finer storyteller in all the country. Sing all the day he would, and he could charm any she-raven that came his way with his song. But like Fechín before him and all ravens since, he would have none but the perfect mate for himself and the one that he was perfect for.

And so it was, as he flew across the waters and through the trees that he saw black wings that gleamed with all the colours of jewels of the earth. He landed on the branch of an old rowan tree and sang his songs and in the end a she-raven settled herself beside him and for the first time he saw Neacht and her eyes burned with the fire of Réalta’s star.

For long days they chased one another through the tree-tops but finally she stopped, waiting for him, and he courted and wooed and won her. They built their nest and happy they would have been. But their nest was in tree in a wood on the edge of a town; and in the town was a castle and in the castle a great lady and she had a fancy for beautiful things.

And above all else she had a notion of possessing the most beautiful bird in all of creation.

So she sent out her hunters with their nets and their cudgels and as they walked through the woods they saw Neacht’s black feathers all shot through with all the colours of reds and greens and blues and her eyes as bright as diamonds and they caught her in their nets and took her back to the castle. The lady was very pleased and she put Neacht into a cage all covered in gold and studded with jewels.

And Neacht wept for her lost freedom and her lost love.

When Aimhirghin returned to their nest and found her gone he called to her, singing his song of love but there came no answer. And all in the wood and the wood itself heard his cry and the leaves in the trees soughed and the waters in the brook bubbled over their stones and they told him that Neacht had been taken to the castle in the town.

So there he flew and it was the first time that he had seen the home of men and shocked was he at the pity of it. He saw the mean shacks with their smoking fires and the babes that cried with hunger and cold. He saw the blind man begging for alms and the widow that could not feed her young.

And when he reached the castle he saw all its wealth and splendour and in a high window in the highest tower he saw a cage of gold and a flash of black and he knew he had found his mate.

But their joy did not last long, for try as he might Aimhirghin could not open the cage; and Neacht told him that the door was locked and the great lady who was her keeper had the key on a chain about her neck.

And Aimhirghin told her of all that he had seen in the town below and though it caused Neacht sadness to hear it, she was not surprised for she knew that the lady was beautiful but callous and cruel and cared for none but herself.

Each day he came to her and each day he would try again to break open her cage but to no to avail. But Neacht it was who had the idea and she said to him, ‘The lady wants only beautiful things. So if I am beautiful no more, she will turn me out. And if my cage does not gleam with all its gold and jewels, so much the better.’

And so she stopped preening her glossy black wings, letting them grow faded and dull. And Aimhirghin stripped her cage of its splendour and he took the treasures into the town where the people suffered so badly. Rubies for the blind man, emeralds for the lame, diamonds for the widow and sapphires for the motherless child crying in the harsh wind. The gold he stripped from the bars and took them to the church for the holy-man to give to the poor; and in the end Neacht’s cage was dark and grim and her feathers were rough and broken.

And the great lady saw what had become of her beautiful bird and she was furious. She tore the chain from her neck and unlocked the cage, meaning to wring Neacht’s neck - but before she could lay a hand on her, Neacht flew through the cage door and through the window, out into the open sky.

But the castle guards has seen Aimhirghin with the jewels in his beak and they took him for a thief. And they waited for him with nets and caught him and baited him with their dogs and threatened him with their cudgels. And in the courtyard of the castle they tried him and found him guilty and they took it in turns to throw great stones at him and while he endured it he sang for his mate until his breath stopped and he sang no more.

And so it was that Neacht, searching for her love, found his body broken and bloodied. There was a rose bush growing in the courtyard and on it grew a single white rose; and in her grief Neacht flew into the bush, driving its thorn into her breast and she sang the song of love that Aimhirghin had sung for her and the rose was so moved by her pain that her petals took the raven’s heart blood until they were red and tinged with black.

All the ravens about heard her song and they took up a lament for the dead lovers; and it spread through all the ravens of the all the lands until even Bran, sitting on Finn Bheara’s shoulder heard it. And when he told his master of the ravens and the rose, the king left his mound in search of their bodies and he took them back with him and he planted the bloodied rose at the doorway to his keep.

And Neacht and Aimhirghin woke from darkness and found themselves insunlit meadows and the perpetual summer of Finn Bheara’s kingdom under the hill.’

In the silence that followed rain fell, drumming hard against the roof. Diaval watched her, his head tilting. ‘You’re not crying at that one.’

‘No…’ Aurora shook her head; she suddenly felt very old and very wise. ‘They get to be together, no matter what. I suppose they wouldn’t have done it any differently.’

Diaval’s lips pushed out, considering. ‘Well, they probably would have preferred not dying. But no; if it meant being without each other, they wouldn’t have chosen anything else.’

A question sprang to her lips and died before the asking. Once, she thought, once she would have asked and would probably not have understood the answer. She was older now and finally, after everything, she knew what devotion was. Aurora slipped her hand into his and laid her head on his shoulder. His fingers curled about hers and they watched the rain sweep across the Moors.


	37. Rook's Defence

‘Checkmate.’

King John of Ulstead sat back, observed his guest. ‘I’m beginning to regret having taught you this game.’

Diaval’s answering smile was almost but not entirely apologetic. ‘I do seem to have a knack for it.’

Rain, diamond hard, hit the windows, droplets glinting like jewels against the inky blackness without. The days were growing short, mist rising as the season started its change. But inside this room with its thick rugs, intricately-woven hangings, heavy velvet curtains and dancing fire, all was warmth and comfort and ease.

A fine perch for a raven. And a king.

John drummed his fingers lightly against the table’s edge, quirked his head and his eyes narrowed fractionally.

‘Are you sure you’d never played it before?’

The dark eyes were candid and utterly opaque. ‘I had not. I’d seen it, but I didn’t know what it was all about.’ Diaval surveyed the array of black and white squares. ‘It’s like a war, isn’t it? Only more civilised.’

‘If only they were all fought this way...’ John took a sip from his goblet and then indicated the flagon at his elbow. ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like..?’

Diaval shook his head. ‘Thanks, but no. I made that mistake once before. It’s like dragon fire and not in the fun way.’

Startled, John almost missed the table as he set down the goblet. ‘You were burned by the dragon? But-’

‘No, I was one.’ Diaval’s eyebrows rose, head tilting. ‘Didn’t Phillip tell you?’

‘No, he must have forgotten that part,’ the king replied faintly. It was easy to forget to what Diaval truly was. As John looked studied him, he had to remind himself yet again that the intelligent, considerate, courteous young man seated opposite him had started life as a raven, had been hatched from an egg, that he was a shapeshifter, that in bird terms, or Fae terms, or whatever precisely he was terms, he was far older than he looked. John took more of his drink.

Oblivious of his host’s turmoil, Diaval was still cheerfully recalling his finest transformation. ‘I don’t see how he could. He looked like he’d seen a hundred ghosts at once.’

Recalling himself, John fiddled with the fur edging his robe. ‘I thought that Maleficent was the dragon.’

‘Where did you hear that from?’

‘Actually, it was my w- Ah. Oh. Of course.’

Silence for a moment, heavy, pulling thoughts down, down to the dungeons beneath the castle and a cell lined with straw. Diaval shook himself and pulled up a smile.

‘Well, it was me. And I make a very good dragon.’

Amusement warmed the lines of the king’s face. He was not a man who suited melancholy and he was glad to retreat from it. ‘I hear that you also make an excellent bear.’

‘True. But my dragon’s better.’

The king laughed. ‘This isn’t a conversation that I ever thought I’d be having.’

‘With a raven, you mean?’

‘With anyone. But the raven part does add a certain something.’

Diaval nodded. ‘I tend to do that.’ He began setting up another game, arranging the pieces swiftly, barely looking at them. But for a moment his fingers lingered over the lines of the black rook, its battlements stylised as two curved protuberances that looked like horns. There was a reverence in that brief caress. Diaval placed the piece on its square.

‘So... I take it that you’re ... a ... raven prince?’

Diaval glanced up at him, his lips twitching. ‘Did Aurora tell you that?’

‘I, uh, no, I...’

‘I keep telling her that ravens don’t have royalty but she won’t have it.’

‘I’m sorry! I thought-’

He shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter. It’s quite flattering, really; at least it makes a change from being called Diablo, the Demon of the Moors.’

‘Yes...’ John dropped his gaze, stared miserably at his slender white queen. Icy blue eyes snapped at him from the shadows; he shuddered. ‘I’m sorry about that. I’ll make sure that is stopped.’

Diaval pushed his lips out and in, considering, and then shrugged. ‘Ah, it isn’t worth the bother. Besides, having a reputation for being a devil can come in handy from time to time.’

John twitched a smile. ‘Especially where your chess playing is concerned.’

‘Do you miss her?’

He blinked. ‘Who?’

Diaval gave him a speaking look, eyebrows raising slightly. John shifted, uncomfortable, gaze darting about the room and then he sighed, let his eyes fall on the other man’s face.

‘No. No, I don’t. In many ways I think I’m relieved she’s gone. Not that she’s _gone,_ exactly, but she’s much easier to get along with as a goat, if I’m honest. She was so beautiful, she looked so fragile, when we met. But then... She’s a terrible woman. I don’t think I let myself see it. I didn’t want to know. And how could the mother of my beautiful son be so...’

‘He has his father’s heart. It’s been the saving of him.’

‘It’s my kingdom. My castle. I should have known.’

‘She hid it well.’

‘Perhaps. But I still should have seen it.’

‘The cat was a bit of a give away.’

‘Arabella?’

Diaval nodded fervently. ‘Cats are malicious, conniving and cruel. They are pure evil. That tells you a lot about anybody who keeps one as a pet.’

‘Do you think,’ John asked levelly, ‘that your, uh ... ancestry ... might make you a little biased?’

‘No,’ replied the raven. ‘Your move.’

The king studied the board, lips pursed, moved one of his knights. ‘We, uh, we haven’t seen Arabella for some time, now I come to think of it. I don’t suppose you...’

He was met with a curiously - and studiedly - blank expression. ‘I don’t know where she is, if that’s what you mean.’

It wasn’t, quite. But as John had never had much affection for his wife’s pet, it was not a matter that he intended to pursue.

Diaval placed one of his black rooks in a combative position on the board. ‘Your move.’


End file.
